


False Sequence

by Emma_Swan



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Action, Alternate Universe, Alternative Universe - FBI, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Consensual Sex, F/F, Female Relationships, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Lesbian Sex, Light BDSM, Past Dragon Queen, Rape Aftermath, Slow Romance, Suspense, Swan Queen - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-04
Updated: 2017-05-02
Packaged: 2018-09-21 20:20:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 60,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9564806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emma_Swan/pseuds/Emma_Swan
Summary: In the midst of hunting down suspects on a case that has haunted her for years, FBI Agent Emma Swan discovers a hostage that proves to be more than a handful. With Emma’s job on the line, and Regina’s life at stake, they grudgingly realize they have no choice but to work together. As the weeks go by, they begin to grow closer, but the answers to their questions seem to be tangled in the past. Will Regina finally face her own demons, or will this case swallow them both whole?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Content warnings will be added in the header of chapters. No major warnings apply for this chapter, except minor depictions of the aftermath of violence. This story will have some explicit consensual sex scenes, but those will also be noted. The implied/referenced rape will not be described in detail, and isn't really even alluded to in this chapter.

Emma stares out at the fog that hangs low over the harbor and swallows in nervous anticipation. The sliver of moon is the only light around, and its reflection on the water flickers out like a candle. As she braces herself and moves across the dark street, Emma makes a wish – for closure, oblivion, or whatever it will take to keep her from getting into these hopeless positions. 

Tonight she’s been careless and irrational, driven only by her insecurities and her ego. She’s always had a lot of self-doubts, but over the past two years, it’s all been made worse by a terrible mistake. That experience has left a deep and lasting mark, even though no one blames her for what happened. The higher-ups called the event “unavoidable,” but it plays through her mind that this situation is similar to the last. She's looking for someone who doesn't want to be found, and she's not following her instincts. Instead, she's following the little voice in her mind that demands she prove herself. It's left her out here in the cold, and she's not only broken her cover, but she’s also ditched her back up. 

With a shuddery, deep breath, she wipes the sweat from her palms onto her jeans and secures her hand around the gun in her holster. She can sense movement somewhere in the darkness ahead of her and fright thumps through the pulse point in her neck. 

There's a sole, squat building on the landscape that must have been a factory at one point, but weeds and time have ravaged it. She heads for the entrance without making a sound, then holds her breath as she pulls on a latch and the metal door rises. It's a risky move that makes a lot of noise, but with luck she’ll startle anyone on the other side. She raises her gun to shoot, but the place is empty, and there's no sign of the men she'd been tracking. 

Relief and disappointment hit her at once, but she remains on guard as she walks through the building. She uses a discarded crowbar to pry the lid from a crate, where weapons are nestled in neat rows. It’s expected, but the weapons aren’t what Emma’s after. 

There’s no denying the place is dusty and she wonders how the men have pulled their quick disappearing act. Their cars are outside, even if everything is eerily quiet. 

A soft, scuttling noise makes her glance up sharply, but it's only a rat running along the rafters. 

She continues cautiously exploring, knowing that this could be a trap, but also with the peace of mind that she has nothing to lose if this turns sideways up -- no family, no kids, no one who would miss her. Her parents left her to the care of the state, and long ago, she stopped being the type to really attach herself to anyone. 

It's made her one hell of an operative.

She's about to step back outside, and then she hears it--a muffled moan from the corner, behind a stack of boxes. On impulse, and with the fast-thinking action drilled into her by her training, she rushes around the boxes and points her gun directly into someone’s face. 

It’s a beautiful woman tied to a chair, looking up at her with hatred. 

Emma has seen torture victims in the past, but this one renders her speechless and stuck in the spot where she's standing. 

From the abrasions that spread across the woman’s half bared body and fill up as much space as oceans on a map, she should be bent over in pain--but there's no evidence of tears and the woman sits proudly, even if she flinches when Emma comes closer. 

"Hey," Emma says quietly. "It's okay. I won't hurt you." She unwraps the gag from the woman's face, and looks into the soulful brown eyes that stare back at her. 

Emma knows better than to untie the woman right away. For her own safety, it's better to ask questions first and deal with the aftermath of that decision later. Even though it goes against what she’s been taught, she's been in too many circumstances where hostages have endangered her life, or attempted to fight her out of fear. She’s also too close to a victory to think about anything other than pursuing the men responsible. 

"I'm going to help you," Emma promises. "My back-up will be here any moment, and then we're gonna round up the guys who did this to you. But first I have some questions I need you to answer. The men who were here--" 

"They left," the woman informs her, sounding irritated. "And before you ask, I don't know where they went. They were talking about a speed boat." 

“A speed boat?” Emma frowns. “How long ago was that?” 

“I’m not sure,” the woman softly groans. 

“Fifteen minutes?” Emma asks impatiently. “Half an hour? What else did they say? Tell me!”

Emma turns around as loud footfalls alert her to the presence of her team, and Rob calls out to her, "Swan!"

Rob rushes around the boxes and appears equally stunned by the victim; it's only as he gapes at the woman that Emma feels the need to cover the stranger with her leather coat. 

"You arsehole," Rob drawls, with his focus back on Emma. He completely forgets himself. "Don't ever run off on your own like that again! We were supposed to handle this together!" 

Booth and Jones arrive in full suits of tactical armor, and Jones yells the code for a medic. Whale responds the quickest and begins tending the victim, while Rob pulls Emma aside and continues going off on her. 

"And what the hell is this?" he snaps, reading right through Emma’s intentions and gesturing wildly at the injured woman who refuses to acknowledge Whale. 

The skilled physician undoes the woman’s restraints and starts treating her injuries.

"Were you planning on continuing her interrogation?” Rob blusters. “Are you so obsessed with revenge that you've become desensitized?" 

Emma feels the muscles in her jaw twitch defensively at the overdramatic remarks. "It's not about revenge!" she spits. "It's about doing my job, and getting answers. It would have been a danger just to let her go--” 

"No," Rob argues. "It was a danger for you to go into this alone. If I had been with you--"

"We would have still lost the trail, and we'd be standing exactly where we are right now," Emma insists. "Look, I know you think I'm reckless at times, and you have a point. But we were really close tonight. Let's just help out with the clean up and we'll talk after." 

She could get reported for disregarding protocol, but she and Rob have been through a lot together and he would never place a complaint about her – he’ll just nag her directly. 

“Fine, but I still think you’re a fool.” Rob grumbles, and then follows Booth to start the cataloging and removal of the weapons. 

Emma lingers behind, planning to search the place from top to bottom. 

Whale escorts the victim out, and the rest of their team loads the crates of weapons into armored vans. 

Hours pass, and Emma squints in the dim sunlight that filters through the building’s high windows. It must be around ten o’clock in the morning when the floor is mostly cleared, and their task force leader shows up. 

Lance stops her with a look, and Emma closes the box of papers she'd been in the process of sorting through. "I'm assigning you a special duty, and if you try to fight me on this, Swan, I'll get the director to sign off on that desk job we've been taking about, just as soon as she gets back from her vacation to the Bahamas."

Emma glowers at him, but her silence is acquiescence, and she crosses her arms as she waits for him to give instructions that she already wants to ignore.

"That woman who you found here last night isn't just a random civilian. She's Regina Mills, and she's a pretty well connected, public figure. These people must have come after her for a reason. They probably left her here to die, but I am sure they'll come after her again if they discover that one of their thugs failed to finish the job. I convinced her to enter into temporary protective custody. She's scared--"

Emma tenses because she's experienced enough to guess what's coming next.

"You're going to babysit her and find out what happened here tonight," Lance states, confirming her worst suspicion. "I don't think it's safe to put her up here in Boston--and now that your cover is blown, it might not be safe for you, either. We'll relocate you—just for the time being, of course. There's a town in Maine--"

"Save it," Emma mutters. "I knew you were going to take me off active duty, even if you pretended you wouldn't. I mean, on the books I'm still active, but by banishing me to a small town in the middle of nowhere, you're effectively rendering me useless. You know how many domestic and international terrorists I've taken down that were connected to this organization? The list is pages long. I want--no, I deserve--the opportunity to see this thing through."

"And you will," Lance grates out, voice high and commanding. "This assignment is important.”

Emma brushes him off, and returns to rummaging through boxes. "Fine," she shrugs. "I don't have a choice, so there's no point in having a conversation about it. I'll pack my bags after I'm done here." 

Emma's already holding a grudge against Regina Mills for reasons beyond the woman’s control, and though Lance claims that Regina will be compliant, she has no desire to live with a stranger in backwoods, Maine. Emma continues sorting through documents, and slips a few files into her shirt without a second thought. 

When Emma leaves the factory later that day, she goes back to her apartment and drinks enough whiskey to dull her vision and her anger. She thinks, wryly, that the woman she’s going to spend the upcoming weeks with is exactly the type of woman she’d spent her whole life avoiding, or trying to get into bed with. She smirks until her lips fall into a wistful frown. 

Emma spends the rest of the night tossing and turning in bed. She's had a lot to drink, and expects to pass out—but she can’t seem to fall asleep, after all.

\---------

The next morning, Emma reports to headquarters. It’s a sleek set of office buildings that are inconspicuous and corporate-looking. She hates the place, and the state of her desk (which is only nominally hers, since she rarely ever uses it) reflects her distaste for the kind of work that keeps her coming back to the same place day after day. There’s a stack of untouched forms on her keyboard, and she pats the top gently as she passes it onto Rob’s desk. 

Her hair is uncombed and pulled back into a loose ponytail, and she’s thrown on a pair of comfortable jeans with a t-shirt under her blue leather jacket. She’s prepared to drive for the next several hours, and she’s pleased to find out that at least Lance has granted her unlimited access to equipment—not that she’ll need it in the middle of Maine. 

By mid afternoon, she and Regina are on the road headed north. Regina sits in the back seat, staring blankly out the window. 

There’s been an overnight change in the woman; she seems cold, but also quietly vulnerable, especially when she isn’t aware Emma’s watching her in the rearview mirror. 

“Not very talkative, huh?” Emma asks. She’d be appreciative of the silence, if not for the fact that it’s her job to get Regina talking. 

Regina spares only a glance at her, and continues looking at the scenery. Farmland, open stretches of forest and the long, winding highway stand between them and their destination. 

“It’s going to be a long ride,” Emma adds. “Want to listen to some music?”

“Why not,” Regina replies, clutching at her side where the bruises run particularly deep. “Better than the sound of your voice. Or do you want to attempt to interrogate me again?” 

“Come on, that’s not what I was doing,” Emma boldly claims. “I just wanted to ask you a few questions, and what if you decided to lunge at me? Of course, it wouldn’t have been really hard to take you down. But what if you had been the type to fight dirty?”

“You would have shot me, presumably, with that gun you pointed in my face,” Regina hisses, not for a moment giving into Emma’s attempt at lighthearted banter. 

“Fair point,” Emma concedes, sobering a little, and for the first time since their journey began, keeping her eyes strictly on the road in front of her. “I was just being careful, okay? I’ve seen a lot.” She goes silent for a beat, but decides she can’t leave the conversation there, or it’ll cause Regina to make assumptions. “I’m sorry those men hurt you—”

“I don’t want your apologies,” Regina sneers, as if the pain truly doesn’t affect her. “Don’t ever talk of it again.”

“Here’s the thing,” Emma begins, licking at her lips as if that’ll coax the right words from her mouth. “It’d really help a lot of people if we talked about it. You don’t have to give me all of the gritty details, but the guys who did this are part of a bigger organization. They hurt a lot of people, and they’re going to continue doing this if we don’t stop them.” 

Regina rolls her eyes and balls her fists until they go white at the knuckles. “I’m aware,” she states. “But I can’t help you. I’ve already described the men to your agents, and I provided you with a list of questions I was asked—none of which I was able to answer.”

“It’s possible that you were targeted because you come from a very wealthy, well-connected family,” Emma suggests, not missing the chance to ask further questions. “What can you tell me about them?”

“There’s nothing to tell,” Regina argues hoarsely. “I have no family. I’m estranged from my mother and father. It’s been two years since we’ve even spoken.”

Emma could mention what she’s seen in the background reports – that Regina’s father, Henry Sr., belongs to a family of formerly cutthroat businessmen, or that her mother Cora Mills owns a billion dollar pharmaceutical giant, and has a reputation for funding dirty campaigns. Regina’s family is part of an elitist group, with their hands in everything.

Instead, Emma pulls over at a gas station and goes inside to buy coffee. She needs to think this over. Either Regina’s lying or telling the truth, and Emma finds herself wanting to believe the latter. 

She’s about to hand a steaming cup of coffee to Regina when the woman’s new phone rings. Their own cell phones, laptops and other devices had to be left behind. 

Regina plugs her ear to listen, so Emma’s left clutching the coffee cup. 

“You know that phone’s only for emergencies,” Emma points out, realizing she’s already doing a sloppy job of monitoring Regina. “And I need a complete list of the people who have that number.”

“Only one,” Regina explains, ending her call. “Your boss -- Mr. Lance DuBois. He’s been in touch with my friend Marian and they’re making arrangements for my son to join us. Henry was very upset when I didn’t return home last night, or pick him up after school today. I didn’t want him to see me like this, and well – Mr. DuBois offered an escort…”

“Wait, you have a kid?” Emma signed on to take care of Regina, but looking after a kid would count as actual babysitting. “How old?”

Regina’s brow furrows, and she takes the cup of coffee that’s meant for her. “He’s ten,” she says. “But some days, he’s much wiser than his years.” 

“Good. As long as I don’t have to change any diapers,” Emma shrugs, although she casts her gaze away and squints hard. She’s always been pretty uncomfortable around kids, but there have been times when she’s secretly wondered what it would be like to hold a baby. Her chin wobbles subtly and she blinks furiously. 

“You don’t like children, Miss Swan?” Regina asks, and she’s deliberately trying to catch Emma’s eyes. 

“They’re okay,” Emma mutters. “I’ve just never thought about it. Too busy with my work, I guess.” It’s a lie, and she turns her back to Regina, hoping that the woman isn’t perceptive enough to see right through her. “Where’s the kid’s father?” she adds, determined to keep the focus off herself. 

“He doesn’t have one,” Regina answers coolly, and then ends their chat by getting back into the car.

Emma follows suit, and drives back onto the highway, determined not to make any more stops. 

They have a glaring contest through the rearview mirror, but Emma turns the radio on and they pretend to ignore each other for a little while. It’s only an hour into their trip, and already Emma’s legs are cramping. 

Regina’s also shifting uncomfortably, but Emma assumes that has more to do with the injuries on the woman’s torso and less to do with the car ride. The ER staff in Boston deemed Regina fit to travel, but she will have to see another doctor in Maine. 

They pass the afternoon in silence, hitting no traffic, in spite of the rush hours. It’s midweek, and most of the cars are driving the opposite direction. 

Regina occasionally jerks to attention, as though she’s fighting sleep. 

Emma thrums the wheel with her fingers and puts the radio on low, and when she glances over her shoulder again, she sees that Regina’s succumbed. Without her guard up, Regina looks even more beautiful. 

Emma can’t seem to keep her eyes on the road, and when a deer darts in front of her, she turns sharply and swerves onto the shoulder of the highway.

“It’s just a deer,” Emma yelps. “Everything’s okay!”

But Regina’s awakened from her deep sleep, and fumes, “You idiot! If I had known you were going to be the agent assigned to protect me, I would have declined. This is the second time you’ve put my life in danger in the last 24 hours.” She throws open the door of the car and Emma’s forced to run after her. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” Emma huffs. “I don’t know if you noticed, but we’re in the middle of nowhere, and you can’t honestly expect me to control the wildlife. Look lady, if you keep walking, I’m just going to pick you up and throw you over my shoulder, because I don’t have the patience for this – ” 

“I guarantee you’ll regret doing that,” Regina states assertively, and ignores Emma’s warning. 

Emma grabs Regina’s arm and lifts the tinier woman with no effort. She notices for the first time that Regina’s wearing heels when Regina begins squirming and kicking, but Emma makes it back to the car and deposits her cargo onto the seat. 

Emma ignores Regina, shuts the door, and then puts the child-lock on to avoid any further issues, though she wouldn’t put it past Regina to break a window. 

“Your son is probably waiting for us,” Emma says, because the kid’s escort left earlier than they did, and Regina shows no signs of calming down. “I don’t like taking the tough approach with you because you’ve already been through so much, but you’re my responsibility now, and I take that duty very seriously. You can trust me.”

“I trust no one,” Regina seethes indignantly. “Least of all you. But I don’t have a choice, do I?”

“Yeah,” Emma quietly disagrees. “You do. You can choose to trust me, or at least give me a chance.”

Emma doesn’t know why she expects a response to that. 

Regina says nothing for what remains of their trip, and Emma thinks that any trust between them will have to be hard earned.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of your kudos and comments mean the world to me. 
> 
> Vague references in this chapter. Still Emma's POV. Regina's POV in the next chapter.

Booth and Jones are waiting with the kid when Emma and Regina arrive. While Regina has a teary-eyed reunion with Henry, Emma checks out the luxury trailer where her colleagues will be providing extra surveillance. 

Neither Booth nor Jones has any new information, but Emma gets the sense that they both blame her for their lame assignments. 

"The story we're telling the kid is that his mom witnessed a crime," Booth explains. "He seems pretty calm about the whole situation, and we want to keep it that way. Mills only agreed to this arrangement because we promised we wouldn't be intrusive, so you're bunking in with her. Me and Jones will camp out in the trailer." 

"I think the general idea is that because you're both women, she'll be more likely to cry on your shoulder," Jones remarks, catching Emma's eye. "But DuBois forgets you're about as sensitive and cuddly as a porcupine." 

"I can get her to talk to me," Emma insists, though Regina's standing at a distance and glaring back at her. She's sure she will get Regina to talk, but not tonight. She's still pissed off over this assignment, and she needs some time to clear her mind. 

They all unload the cars, and then Jones sets up the cameras while Emma heads into town to find groceries. She gets a little lost and takes her time exploring. 

It’s late when she returns and drops off a paper bag of Chinese food for Booth and Jones. She hurries up the steps and into the cabin she’ll share with Regina and her son, surprised to find that Regina’s been waiting for her. 

“It’s ten o’clock,” Regina growls. “Where the hell have you been?”

“Don’t get mad,” Emma sighs and holds up the takeaway bags of food. “I brought dinner.”

Henry lets out a whoop of delight and Emma passes the bag to him. He sits at the small kitchen table and pops open a paper container of noodles. 

“You call this dinner?” Regina persists. “Where are the groceries, Miss Swan? You might eat like a bachelor, but I have a son, and he needs three nutritious meals a day—“

“The kid seems happy to me,” Emma observes, although she hasn’t said two words to Henry. Still, the boy is shoving noodles into his mouth with a pair of wooden chopsticks. How much happier can anyone get? “I’ll take you to the store in the morning and we can pick up whatever you think we need.”

Henry continues munching without complaint, and Regina begrudgingly joins him at the table. 

The kid seems interested in Emma’s work, and Emma spends the entire meal explaining the ins-and-outs of her job as an agent. She talks about her training, the types of the equipment she uses, and the goals of her work, all while carefully avoiding the stories that are inappropriate for kids. Even Regina appears mildly intrigued. 

Henry’s not so bad, and Emma begins thinking that it might even be nice to have the kid around. He’s brought along a suitcase full of comic books and video games; he also takes her side on more than just the Chinese food. 

“Open your fortune cookies,” Henry demands, pushing them across the table in Emma and Regina’s direction. “Mine says, ‘when fear hurts you, conquer it and defeat it!’ Cool, right? What does yours say?”

“Mine says ‘a lifetime of happiness is in store for you,’” Emma snorts. “This is already inaccurate, unless I’m getting a re-do of the last thirty-five years.”

“Maybe something good will happen,” Henry reasons, but Emma’s too distracted by Regina, and only half-listening to his muttering about heroes and happy endings. The kid must be reading too many stories. 

Regina scrutinizes Emma almost sympathetically, but it’s hard to get a read on what Regina is thinking. 

“Mom, let me see yours,” Henry nags, pushing close to his mother and snatching the slip of paper from Regina’s hands. “It says, ‘the love of your life is sitting across from you.’” He glances up at Emma, who flushes red and lets out a nervous laugh. 

Regina also chuckles and runs her fingers through Henry’s hair with motherly affection. “It’s true,” she smiles brightly. “You are the love of my life.” 

But Henry’s not an idiot, and Emma sees that he’s noticed the flaw in Regina’s statement. Emma is positioned directly across from Regina. 

Regina gives her a fleeting but intense look, and before Henry can verbalize a protest, she’s hushing him with talk of bedtime. 

Henry follows his mother’s instructions, but Emma catches the kid sneaking a flashlight off to bed along with one of his heavier storybooks. She’s impressed by Henry’s deviousness, especially given the fact he has a mother who’s clearly a hard ass. 

“Henry’s a pretty cool kid,” Emma admits, after Regina comes into the living room from tucking him into bed. 

“He’s my whole world,” Regina agrees, as she finds a throw blanket in the closet and makes herself comfortable on the couch. “Thank you for indulging all of his questions this evening.” 

Emma rolls her shoulders in a shrug and then sinks into an armchair. “It’s the least I could do, especially after how I treated his mother. I’m sorry about this afternoon and I’m sorry about last night.”

Regina barely nods, but breathes out, “I suppose I accept your apology.” 

It’s not a strong reassurance that there will be lasting peace between them, but Emma finds herself relaxing for the first time in months. They decide to put on a movie, but after two hours the movie ends, and neither of them move from their comfortable spots. 

“Why are you unhappy?” Regina asks her unexpectedly. 

“What?” For a moment, Emma forgets what she’d said about her fortune. “Oh, that. I was just joking.” 

Regina squints at her skeptically, but Emma deflects by talking about the parts of her life she finds fulfilling.

“My job is my main focus,” Emma explains. “Maybe some day I’ll have a family, but it’s pretty hard to maintain a relationship when I’m constantly traveling for work.” She leaves out the small detail that she once had a relationship that mattered to her, but it didn’t last. “What about you?” 

“I studied law,” Regina tentatively begins. “I practiced for a little while, but then I started a non-profit for women who find themselves in tough domestic situations. I’m fortunate to have Marian. She’s such a supportive partner—”

“Wait—Marian is like, your romantic partner?” Emma interrupts, completely taken aback by the possibility that Regina Mills might be involved with a woman.

Regina laughs at Emma’s apparent mistake. “Marian is my partner, yes, but not in that sense. She and I have worked together for years. She’s my closest friend.” 

“Oh,” Emma mutters, still in shock and suddenly feeling self-conscious. 

“It’s not that I’m—“ Regina stops, searching for a word to smooth over the misunderstanding. “I would never judge anyone for their romantic interests.”

Emma licks her lips as she gives a slow nod. 

“Anyway,” Regina continues, “Marian is my co-director. I’m not sure what I would do without her.” She winces subtly, as if she’s either thinking about a subject that pains her, or she’s in actual physical pain.

It’s not surprising when Regina excuses herself to take her pain medicine. Emma expects Regina will just go to bed afterwards, but when she heads to her own room at the back of the cabin, she hears the woman rummaging around in the bathroom. 

Regina steps out in a satin nightdress and a short bathrobe tied tightly at the waist. Emma’s eye is drawn to Regina’s neck and the stretch of swollen, purple skin below her collarbone. On Regina’s thighs, there are bruises shaped like grasping hands. 

“Have a good night, Miss Swan,” Regina softly intones, keeping her eyes on Emma’s face. She glides down the hall while Emma stands there, staring at her back and then the closed door. 

\------- 

Emma awakens to the sound of raindrops gently pattering against the roof. She peels herself out of bed and shuffles down the hallway to the bathroom. It’s still dark outside, and as she fumbles with the light switch over the sink, she hears a quiet splash in the tub. 

“Don’t you bother knocking?” Regina softly asks, with a touch of irritation in her voice. 

Emma keeps her back turned, though she can see Regina’s shape in a floor length mirror that is propped against the wall. “I’m half awake and it’s dark in here,” she says in her own defense. 

She’s already thinking about how much this will set them back, and how Regina will blame her for barging in unannounced. “I’m sorry I walked in on you. The door was open--”

Anticipating an argument puts Emma on edge, but Regina surprises her.

“I thought it was locked,” Regina states as calmly as possible. “Just give me a few minutes to finish up, and then the bathroom is all yours.” 

Emma breathes out the word “okay,” and steps back into the hall to wait. She’s out there longer than expected, but she’s not about to complain. 

Last night she’d spent an hour reading and re-reading the official records of what she found at the warehouse, the brief profiles of the suspects that her team gathered, and Regina’s perplexing statements about the interrogation. The final pieces of information came from the medical documents that Whale composed, and from the emergency room staff in Boston. 

Now she has a better idea of what the suspects did to intimidate Regina. 

She stands patiently at the bathroom door, unaware of how her thoughts make her chin firm, and how her eyes flash with anger. 

Regina opens the door to find the infuriated agent standing in her path. “What is your problem, Miss Swan?” she snaps. 

“I don’t—” Emma stammers. “I don’t have one. I was just waiting.” She realizes her arms are crossed over her chest, and drops them instantly, loosening up her stance. “How are you feeling this morning?”

“Hungry, and I don’t want leftover Chinese for breakfast,” Regina carefully replies. She lifts her head almost haughtily in an attempt to seem unaffected, but Emma sees right through the deception. 

“We can go into town,” Emma offers, and swings back so Regina can pass by. “Just give me half an hour to get ready.”

Emma forgets that most of the stores probably don’t open until nine, but she’s willing to search the town for a shop that opens early. 

It doesn’t take her long to shower and get dressed, and when she strolls into the living room, the house is still dark and quiet. 

“Henry’s sleeping later than usual,” Regina mutters from her place at the window, where she’s apparently been watching the rain. “I don’t want to wake him.”

Emma approaches slowly, and pulls up her own armchair. “I’m not usually much of an early riser, either,” she admits. She’s scrounged up a chocolate bar, a stale jelly donut, and a pack of pretzels that she’d stuffed in her bag for their long car ride yesterday. “Want any of this?”

Regina reluctantly takes the pack of pretzels. “Thanks,” she murmurs, and then eyes the donut. “You might want to throw that in the trash.”

“Why?” Emma asks, and she takes a big bite out of the donut to prove a point. “It’s still good. Tastes exactly like it did yesterday, or the day before. Can’t remember when I bought it.” 

“How do you manage to remember all of the details of a complicated case, but find it hard to remember the details of a donut?” Regina muses. “You’re not exactly inspiring confidence in me.”

“I usually keep food in my bag or car for times I don’t make it home,” Emma shrugs, wiping the strawberry jelly from her chin. “That’s a pretty regular occurrence.” 

Two strikes of lightning light up the room, and for the first time that morning Emma gets a good glimpse at Regina’s troubled face. Regina refuses to look at her, and continues to stare out at the grey-black sky. 

“We should go get some actual groceries, before you feel tempted to eat anything else from the forgotten depths of your backpack,” Regina huffs, while Emma digs around in the bag. 

Emma stops short of pulling a soft bundled something out of a pocket. She freezes up when Regina abruptly begins scrutinizing her. 

She’s not sure what else she’s stashed in there, but she’s suddenly aware that she’s tightly clutching a pair of lacy thong underwear. 

“Well, it would seem you’re prepared for the unexpected,” Regina softly mocks. 

“They’re not even mine,” Emma blurts without thinking, though that only makes the situation even worse. 

Regina quirks an eyebrow and smirks at Emma’s embarrassment. 

Emma blushes profusely, and shoves the panties deeper into the pocket from whence they came. Fortunately, she does it just in time, because Henry comes barreling into the room. 

He’s wearing pajamas and pushing the messy bangs out of his eyes. “What are we doing today?” he asks immediately. 

“You’re going to get dressed, and then we’re going into town,” Regina instructs. “Make sure to brush your teeth.”

Henry follows directions, though in his rush, the kid doesn’t do such a good job of combing his hair. He’s the first one in the car, and he leans between the seats to fiddle with the radio while he and Emma wait for Regina. The stations are mostly static, but he settles on one with classic rock. 

“It’s weird,” he remarks out of the blue. “My mom doesn’t seem to like you, but you’re supposed to be helping us.”

“Your mom doesn’t seem like the type of person who has an easy time accepting help from others,” Emma breathes out, with a shocking amount of honesty. “And I didn’t do a great job of making her feel safe these past couple of days.”

Henry accepts her explanation at face value, and slumps back to buckle his seat belt. Regina slides into the car next to Emma, and then they get on the road. 

Between the carefully selected clothes and make-up, Regina’s gone to lengths to cover up her injuries, and for a while it’s almost like a normal trip for all of them. 

They stop at a deli to get breakfast sandwiches, and while Henry slurps at chocolate milk and strolls on ahead, Emma and Regina move along at a more leisurely pace. The rain doesn’t start to pick up again until they’re inside of the market.

“I always wondered what it would be like to grow up in a place like this,” Emma comments, as she glances at the passersby who seem to be in no hurry. “Seems quiet. Like nothing bad could ever go wrong here.”

Regina says nothing, and Emma wonders why the woman has started ignoring her again. 

“I think that’s a common and cliché misconception,” Regina finally mutters. “And that’s odd coming from you, given your line of work.” 

The market has only a few aisles, and Emma pushes the cart while Regina picks up items they might need for the next few days. Emma tosses in cereal, three boxes of microwave popcorn and the biggest bottle of ketchup she can find on the shelf. 

“You know what else is odd?” Regina adds. “Your shopping habits. Why are you buying in bulk, like you have a dozen children to feed?”

Emma puts down the twelve-pack boxes of macaroni and cheese that she’s holding. “We don’t know how long we’re going to be here,” she insists, although the cart contains only what looks like her normal weekly shopping whenever she's spending time at home. “What did you get, anyway?” she asks, taking a moment to rummage through Regina's purchases. 

“Quinoa?” Emma blinks. “Agave syrup? Buckwheat pasta? Basically, things with no sugar, no taste—”

“No additives, no chemicals, and no artificial dyes,” Regina emphasizes, and picks up a box of pure cane sugar. “I’m not a complete health nut, but I am careful.” 

Emma grabs a giant container of hot cocoa powder—the kind with ingredients she can’t pronounce on the packaging. “I prefer living on the edge.”

“Oh really?” Regina scoffs. “Do you want mini marshmallows, or teddy bear cookies to go with your cocoa?”

“Both,” Emma emphatically huffs. 

Henry wanders back to them with corn chips and gummy candy. He cleverly tucks his snacks under Emma’s items while Regina’s looking at the shelves.

“Can I get Pop tarts?” he asks pleadingly, bouncing on his toes. 

Emma is already reaching for the box when Regina firmly says, “no.”

“You can have fresh fruit with granola and yogurt,” Regina adds, as if that’s any real consolation. 

Henry drags his feet on the way to the check out, and Emma glances at him consolingly. 

They all stack the groceries onto the conveyer belt for the cashier to ring up. 

“Rainy day, isn’t it?” the cashier asks, making casual conversation as Emma begins bagging. 

“Yeah,” Emma agrees. “But it’s supposed to clear up this afternoon.”

Regina accidentally drops a carton of strawberries, and they tumble everywhere. 

Emma glances back at Regina, Henry, and the customer behind them who stoops to help with the clean up. 

Henry moves the quickest, and gets the berries that roll under the magazine rack. The man behind Regina bends, and happily returns the rogue strawberries to their carton. He doesn’t notice the tension in Regina, or how his simple kindness catches her off guard. 

“Thank you,” Regina snaps, ripping the carton from the man’s hands, and putting immediate space between them. 

Emma observes, and pulls the shopping cart out of the way to let Regina through. Regina slips by, and rushes out of the shop as soon as they’ve paid.

\-----

Two days later, it becomes clear to Emma that Regina hasn’t been sleeping. Occasionally, Regina falls asleep for twenty minutes on the couch, with her glasses on and some work documents in her lap, but Henry zooms through the living room and disrupts her every time. 

That’s why Emma decides to interfere the next time she finds Regina half-curled and asleep in a chair. She drapes a warm blanket over Regina, and then herds Henry away to the kitchen, towards a collection of gadgets she’s lain out to show him. 

Henry pokes at a device that remotely gathers intel from computer systems. He seems unimpressed by the computer chips and passive monitoring instruments. “But where’s all your cool weapons?” he sulks. 

“Hey kid, these are the best weapons,” Emma argues. “Sometimes, if I use these, I can stop a fight before it even occurs.” She’s not going to teach Henry about the guns or drones, even though the kid pouts like his mother. In spite of herself, she’s developing a soft spot for bottom lips that stick out a bit petulantly. 

“I have something better,” Henry insists, and runs off to his room. He comes back with a pair of neon green water guns and hands them to Emma. “My mom hates it when I play with these. Her friend got them for me. But mom says toy guns promote violence.”

“She’s right,” Emma frowns.

“But these only shoot water and it’s a hot day out,” Henry pleads. 

It’s the beginning of fall, and even though the last several nights have been unseasonably cold, it’s in the seventies today – not exactly a beach day, but warm enough for the kid to have a point. 

“Are you sure you want to do this, kid?” Emma asks, still giving him time to back out. “I really don’t want to upset your mom.” She’s only willing to acquiesce because she knows Regina needs to sleep, and she’s out of ideas for entertaining Henry.

“Yes, let’s go,” Henry demands, and he’s up and out the door before she can suggest any other options. He fills both of the water guns at the hose, and offers one to Emma before running off.

Instead of a yard, the cabin sits on a piece of property with trees as far as the eye can see, and the nearest neighbors live miles away. There’s plenty of space for them to roam, and Henry dodges through the trees while she chases after him. 

“I bet there are bad guys out here,” Henry reflects when he pauses to catch his breath. “We have to keep my mom safe.” 

They’re both breathless and soaked when they return to the house, and Emma’s smiling in a way that makes her face ache. 

Regina’s still asleep when they creep inside, but she stirs when Emma and Henry come back into the living room after changing their clothes. 

Henry’s tucked his empty water gun under his arm and he begins building the pillow fort that he and Emma planned while out playing. 

“Hey,” Emma says softly, and sits on the surface of the coffee table across from Regina, because Henry’s taking all of the cushions from the couch. 

“Hey,” Regina rasps in bewilderment, dazed from the unexpected nap. “What have you two been doing?” She eyes Henry’s fort and the plastic guns disapprovingly, but she’s clearly too sapped of energy to be upset. 

“We were pretending that the forest is full of enemies,” Henry reports. “It’s our job to keep you safe while you regain your strength. Oh, and they out number us, so in the meantime, we have to put up a fort to hold them off for as long as possible.”

Regina pales at Henry’s explanation and draws a quick breath through her mouth. “Emma, may I have a word?” she asks, gesturing to the other room and out of earshot of Henry.

Emma gives her a confused nod, but follows Regina into the small sunroom at the back of the cabin and shuts the door behind them. 

“I don’t appreciate that you discussed what happened with my son,” Regina hisses out in accusation. 

“Whoa, wait,” Emma starts gruffly, “I didn’t tell him anything. We were playing a game, and he came up with that plot all on his own. You really need to give the kid more credit, Regina. He’s not stupid. He can see that you’re hurting – that you can barely walk, and you haven’t been sleeping. He sure as hell realizes that this trip isn’t a vacation. Why don’t you just tell him the truth?”

“Why? So he can be afraid to sleep at night?” Regina snaps without censoring herself. “I don’t want that type of childhood for Henry.”

“Okay, I get it,” Emma sighs, and her eyes are like the sea after a hurricane, when the tumultuous waves have brought up the greenery from the depths. “You don’t have to worry about me telling Henry anything. I wouldn’t have done that anyway. It’s not my place.”

Regina’s shoulders release from their tense posture. 

“I just want to know – what can I do to help?” Emma asks. 

Regina stiffens again. “Nothing,” she huffs exasperatedly, but she’s hugging herself at the elbows. “I truly am fine. Thank you for your concern.”

Henry drags them both back to the living room after that and shows off the work he’s done in their absence. “Check out the fort!” he demands. “There’s even room for my whole team.” He’s lined up all of his action figures to protect the couch pillows. 

Emma keeps him company while Regina makes dinner—pasta with extra tomato sauce for Henry and butter and cheese for Emma. Regina even offers plates to Booth and Jones, and the other officers who will be rotating out duties so the men can both go home on the weekend. Emma is supposed to have time off, too, but she doesn’t have anywhere to be. 

Henry falls asleep on the couch after a full meal and two movies, so Emma carries him to bed for Regina. Her phone rings just as she’s putting him down and she steps out of the room to answer it. 

“It’s me,” Lance announces. “Are you alone?” He waits for confirmation that she is by herself before continuing with his news. “We found the guys you tracked down to that warehouse, and the guys that they were meeting.”

“Did you question them yet? I want to come down to Boston for that,” Emma says, and she’s half-tempted to call in her sub so she can use her free days to travel. 

“Can’t question them,” Lance explains. “They were the victims of an execution-style beheading. It would have been hard to link some of them to their crimes, but get this: all of their heads were shipped in a box to Mills’ place of work.” 

Emma covers the phone with her hand and quirks a brow as she moves down the hall to her bedroom. 

“This is why I wanted you to watch her every move,” Lance reveals conspiratorially. “Mills would have motivation, but she’s only been in contact with one person—Marian Sherwood, whose story checks out. She reported the delivery. Someone else must have learned of what happened, and decided to take action. I’m investigating a few leads. There’s a lot more to this than meets the eye, Swan. Continue to touch base with me daily.”

“Tell me about your leads,” Emma practically begs, but Lance hangs up without saying goodbye. She curses under her breath, and goes to check on Regina. 

It’s not that Regina requires constant supervision. It’s just that Emma’s grown accustomed to their nightly routine of sitting in front of the television together. She’s disappointed when she finds the living room empty, but she hears Regina in the kitchen scrubbing dishes. 

Regina stands with her back turned, and over the sound of running water, confesses, “At one point in my life, I was involved with all of the wrong people. It’s possible that I was targeted because one of them needed me to take the blame for something they had done. Either way, it’s been a week, and I want to take Henry home. He can’t afford to miss any more school, and he misses his friends. Your team can provide me with the same monitoring services in Boston.” 

Two wrinkles of disbelief appear on Emma’s forehead. She knows the immediate threat has passed, given the recent news from DuBois, but it’s still safer to stay put for a few days. “I really don’t think that’s best,” she quietly stresses. “You’re going to put yourself and your kid in unnecessary danger. It’s really negligent—”

Emma’s learned that Regina’s like gunpowder—a little fire will make the woman explode. Regina turns, and gracefully but threateningly crosses the distance between them. All Emma can do is swallow hard and try to maintain eye contact, though it’s a challenge. 

“I would never put my son in harm’s way. How dare you accuse me of that?” Regina fumes, but her rage dulls and she takes a deep breath through her nostrils. She’s softer when she rumbles, “Let me tell you something, Miss Swan. I do whatever it takes to protect the people I love.”

“Noted,” Emma states, although her mind is already whirring with all that Regina’s words imply. Is it possible Regina arranged to murder her enemies from afar without Lance or any members of their team finding out about it? 

It’s the first time Emma has allowed the thought to come to mind, because previously she didn’t think Regina seemed capable of managing such a feat—but now, she’s less sure. 

Neither one of them will move or back down. Emma’s palms are starting to sweat from the confrontation. She’s faced plenty of nutcases in the past, but none of them were capable of riling her like this woman. 

“Who are these bad people that might have set you up?” Emma asks, pulling herself up to her full height. “Why didn’t you mention them before?”

“Because I have no evidence,” Regina husks, and her eyes wander down to Emma’s lips for a brief moment. “I just have a hunch, and that isn’t enough to accuse anyone– “ 

Emma blinks rapidly and scrunches her brow in confusion from the heady feeling she gets from being close to Regina. She puts some distance between them, for two very important professional reasons, or so she tells herself: Regina’s been withholding information, and she’s pretty sure the appropriate response to that discovery is not to develop the impulsive urge to kiss the woman on the mouth. 

“Give me their names and we can investigate quietly,” she suggests.

“I don’t think that would be wise,” Regina cautions. “I know what this case means to you, but I don’t have any new information. What I do have now is a massive headache. I’m going to bed.” She slides by Emma, and walks out of the kitchen and down the hall. 

Emma returns to the living room and plops down on the couch to think. She turns the television on and shuts her eyes to run through the events of the last few days in her head. 

Around two A.M., she jerks awake and knocks over a stack of grant proposals that Regina’s left on the table. She’s in the process of picking the papers up when she spots Regina’s planner and decides to flip through it. 

Regina’s already made plans to return home, if the number of appointments on the calendar is any indication. Emma grabs her phone and snaps pictures of the next few days and weeks of Regina’s schedule. She feels like a stalker, but as she’s in the middle of rationalizing and justifying the decision to herself, an interesting thing happens. 

A business card and a few sheets of paper fall out from the pages of the planner and land with a flutter in front of her.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Warnings apply here because we're in Regina's head. 
> 
> \---

On her third day back in Boston, Regina Mills takes a scalding hot shower, puts on a black pants suit, and drops her son off at school. She’s in the turning lane that will take her to work, but abruptly swerves right, and onto the street that leads her home. 

The spacious, two-story house seems quieter than usual without Henry, and she makes a point of creating a lot of noise. She brews coffee, and dusts the shelves, and calls Marian simply for an excuse to talk. The chat lasts all of two minutes before she zones out, twirling the phone cord in her hand. 

“Regina?” Marian repeats. “Did you hear what I just said? I asked if you wanted some company.”

Regina’s heart leaps with eagerness to accept, but she catches sight of the circles under her eyes in the nearest mirror. “That’s alright,” she mutters hoarsely. “It’s bad enough that I’ve been out of the office for a week. I’ll just call you later.”

She spends the rest of the morning in her study, and just as she’s about to climb the stairs to lie down, the doorbell rings. At first, she expects Marian, but it’s another familiar face that greets her -- an old friend, who strikes a casual pose in a smart grey suit, but sweeps through the door with a frantic energy as soon as Regina opens it. 

Mallory Bellamy is as high-strung and tempestuous as ever. “I had a visitor today,” she announces, all sibilant twang and over enunciated sass. “A Miss Emma Swan. I thought she was just a jealous girlfriend until I realized she's investigating a crime. What happened?"

"You're a litigator," Regina laughs through gritted teeth. "Surely her line of questioning gave you a clue." She crosses her arms in discomfort under Mal's scrutiny, and then breaks from her stiff posture to lead the way into the living room. 

"Do you want to enlighten me as to why she seems to think I'm a suspect?" Mallory growls out. "What did you tell her about our history?" 

"Nothing," Regina mutters with a miffed quirk of her eyebrow. "I told her nothing. I'm not even sure how she got your name.”

Mallory moves forward without warning and grabs her. 

Regina's too stunned by the familiarity of it all to do much more than gape up at the taller, imposing woman. Mallory runs a caressing finger along her cheek, and sympathetically looks into her eyes. 

Regina gulps as Mallory spins her around and yanks up the bottom of her shirt to see her slightly faded and sickly, purple-green injuries. 

"Let me go," she yelps, sounding far too small and girlish for her liking. Regina regains control and staggers away.

"I could never have done this," Mallory rasps. "Not even with your consent. Did you tell Emma about your previous lifestyle?" 

Regina glares hard at nothing. "It's not relevant to figuring out who’s responsible, so no, I didn't," she mutters.

"You and I both know that the general public doesn't understand that the types of acts we engage in can be quite loving," Mal curtly explains. "Emma is aware you were a student of mine... But she's not aware that you were also my student in other ways."

"That’s none of her business," Regina hisses softly. 

"Some judges would rule that you were getting exactly what you asked for that night, because you'd sought and dealt out similar forms of 'punishment' for sexual gratification in the past." Mallory has never been one to hold back her opinions, and Regina's starting to weary of the conversation. 

"Did you come all the way over here just to tell me that?" Regina asks in a hushed, even voice. 

"I came over here because I figured you could use a friend," Mallory admits. "I brought the girls along, but I made them wait out in the car in case you didn't welcome my company."

"I'm fine with your company," Regina breathes, "But I'm not in college anymore. I keep a tidy home for my son--"

"And we respect that, darling!" Carla Deville calls from the foyer. "That's why we only brought three bottles of Pinot Grigio." 

Ursula Martin follows Carla into the living room, takes one look at Regina and frowns. "I’m going to give you a hug," she states, and then wraps Regina in an awkward embrace. “You know I’ve been wanting to do that for years, but you were always so damn standoffish. Anyway, where's your phone? I’ll call and order us a pizza." 

An hour later, Regina's sitting on the sofa with a glass of wine. Ursula's the only one interested in the pizza, and perches cross-legged across from Carla with a slice of pepperoni and anchovies. 

Carla's drunk enough that she's half forgotten the reason they came over in the first place. "How about a little party game," she drawls dramatically. "Something to cheer you up." 

"What do you have in mind?" Mal asks, and Regina wonders if times have truly changed, because Mallory would never entertain Carla's drunken proposals in the past.

"Well, first we invite that snooping little blonde inside," Carla snickers. "Emma Swan, isn't it? She's parked just on the other side of the street."

"Emma isn't snooping," Regina frowns. "It's her job to watch my home. There are security cameras outside--"

"Nonsense," Carla tuts. "She's a snoop." 

"She does seem rather invested," Ursula observes. "I mean, you'd expect that, but she asked all of us a lot of questions about your personal life. Fortunately you don't have one, so we didn't have to lie."

"Invite her in," Mallory sedately commands, and there's a glimmer of trouble in Carla's eye that makes Regina feel ill at ease. 

Carla skips up from the couch and goes out to chat with Emma, and minutes later they're both walking into the living room.

Emma cheerfully helps herself to a slice of pizza after Ursula offers it. "Thanks," she smiles, oblivious to the fact that she's everyone's focus. “I was just going for my break. Haven’t eaten all day.” 

Regina drinks the rest of her wine. She intends to remain sober, but Mal pours her another glass and she finds herself swallowing down the warm liquid in spite of herself.

“So, Miss Swan,” Carla crisply intones. “Are you a lesbian, or do you only dress like one?”

Emma chokes on her pizza and sits up straighter, as if it’s her posture that’s giving her away. “I--” she stutters. “I don’t have the time to get involved with anyone.” Her eyes dart to Regina. She licks her bottom lip nervously, and then confidently admits, “But I like plaid, and I like women. Got a problem with that?”

“The plaid, yes,” Carla sniffs haughtily. 

“Just ignore Carla,” Ursula urges, and flippantly waves her hand in the air. “She doesn’t know how to make friends.”

But it's not Carla that Regina's worried about. Mallory is sizing Emma up in a way that makes Regina shift in subtle discomfort. 

“Who said anything about making friends?” Mal asks with a menacing flick of her eyelashes. “I’m sure Emma knows that isn’t the purpose of this little chat.” 

Regina sets down her wine glass and shoots Mallory a wary glare. “Don’t,” she warns, but Mallory’s mind is clearly made up and Emma Swan is reactive. There’s no avoiding whatever is to come.

“As you continue with your investigation, it’s in your best interest to be discreet,” Mal meditatively informs Emma. “I did a little digging myself this afternoon. I have quite a few personal connections in the FBI. Turns out you don’t exactly have a spotless record, Agent Swan. You use whatever means necessary to get the job done, and you’re frequently careless. You’d better be more cautious from this day forward.”

Emma raises an eyebrow and boldly sticks out her chin. “Threatening me just makes it seem like you have something to hide,” she shrugs. 

“Everyone has secrets,” Mallory coyly muses. “Mine aren’t as damning as yours. One of my connections read the files on Operation Cobra, and I have to say, you screwed up royally.” 

Emma’s suddenly ghostly pale and straight-faced. “You can’t always trust reports,” she shrugs. “I take responsibility for my actions, but what was put into writing is very black and white. I’m not going to let you use my past against me.”

“I won’t, so long as you ensure that no harm comes to my dear friend,” Mal caustically replies. 

“It’s my duty to protect Regina,” Emma states fiercely, and then suddenly Mallory’s entire energy changes. 

Mallory appears pleased but also intrigued, and Regina takes advantage of the break in the tension. She interrupts before Mallory can continue her conversation with Emma. “Henry will be home soon.” 

She sounds meek and not at all like the commanding woman she considers herself. “I need to make him an after school snack, and you should all get back to work… or whatever it is you people do. ” She wants to make a fast escape from this reunion from hell, but Ursula and Carla hastily decline, and she realizes that all of her old friends have come here with a mind to stay. 

Henry breezes though the door at top speed, and she’s unsurprised to see Marian tagging along after him. 

“I picked him up early,” Marian explains, and glances over Regina’s shoulder at her visitors. “Thought you could use some help around here, and I’ve hardly seen you since you got back. What’s going on? Are you having a party without me?”

“These are just some unexpected guests,” Regina admits in a light voice, and her lips twist indecisively, smiling and cringing at once. She rubs her hands together out of nervous habit, and retreats further into the foyer. 

Henry seems delighted that Mallory and Emma are in his living room. He throws his backpack aside and carelessly kicks off his shoes. The panic Regina’s been experiencing all day begins to subside as she watches her son. She’s so wrapped in Henry that she doesn’t realize that Marian’s reaching for her. She gasps and flinches in reflex and fright. The room around her goes quiet, and she meets Emma’s eyes first. 

Emma likes to pretend that she knows how to school her emotions, but Regina sees right through her newest acquaintance. Emma’s skin turns a shade paler, and she’s gawking compassionately. 

It’s all overwhelming, and Regina shrinks away from the unwanted pity like a tiny critter hiding from sudden light. 

“Hey mom.” Henry pipes up, looking clever as he angles his eyebrow at her. “You should invite everyone to stay for dinner.” He’s doing his best to smooth over the awkward situation, and Regina appreciates him for it. 

“Of course,” Regina quickly agrees, although she’d rather distance herself from everyone, with the exception of Henry. “You’re all welcome to stay.” 

“Why don’t we order in?” Emma suggests. 

Mallory—who knows Regina better—insists that she, Carla and Ursula will cook. Henry bounces off to help with the dinner preparations, and then Regina’s left alone with Emma and Marian. 

The two women have already spoken to each other several times over the past few days, so Regina can’t even redirect the conversation with introductions or small-talk. She’s stuck staring at their solemn, patient faces.

“How are you holding up?” Marian murmurs, and she cautiously steps forward again as if wanting to offer comfort without knowing how. 

Regina clears her throat and sinks down into an armchair. “I’m tired,” she confesses. “But I’m sure Miss Swan is much more exhausted from the past two weeks.”

Marian turns to Emma with a rumpled brow and asks, "did you find out who sent that package to our office?"

Regina's eyes skip curiously to Emma, and she wonders what Marian means. "What package," she finally grates.

Emma freezes up and glances down at her in worry. "I meant to tell you earlier today." Her voice warbles like she's lying, then she licks her lips. "The guys who were responsible for abducting you and taking you to that warehouse -- they were found. They're dead, and we don't know who's responsible. Their murder looks like an act of revenge." 

Regina gapes up at Emma, feeling irrationally angry that she's been kept in the dark about what transpired. Her sleepless nights might have been more peaceful if she knew that the men who attacked her would never be a problem for her again. She purses her lips, which quiver with frustrated emotion, and mutters a strained "excuse me" before rushing off to the bathroom and locking herself inside. 

Left alone, she flips on the taps to let the water run and stares at her face in the mirror above the sink. The woman across from her seems barely recognizable, and she watches the near stranger as if she expects the image to move--to prove that she's not the one with dark circles under her eyes, or tears streaming down her cheeks. She hugs herself, and folds her legs under her body as she sits in front of the bathroom door. 

"Regina?" Marian calls a while later, and tries to turn the knob when she doesn't answer. "Dinner is ready. I'm going to wait for you, okay?" 

Regina squeezes herself, and muffles a soft sob, which she's been holding in for days. She won't budge, but she knows she's only making matters worse if she stays. All of her friends have already made their own assumptions about her and the situation, and if she has to look at their pitying faces for one more second, she'll have to admit to herself how much she hurts. She can't do that. 

Decisively, she forces her legs to cooperate, and stands up to tidy her make-up and brush back her hair. "I'll be right there," she states sharply, and waits it out until she looks composed. When she swings open the door, Marian steps out of her way as she storms straight at Emma.

"Henceforth, you'll keep me informed about any developments in the case that involve me personally," she orders. "If you want my complete cooperation with the investigation, which I know you do, then there won't be any more oversights like this one."

"I'm sorry. I was going to tell you," Emma insists. 

Regina's baffled by how easily she wants to accept the apology, but she clings to her self-righteous rage.

"No!" she barks. "Look, Miss Swan. We aren't friends. This is your job, and from day one it's seemed you haven't taken it seriously." She's talking out of anger now. They certainly had a rocky beginning, but since then Emma has been nothing considerate of her, and she knows how invested Emma is in her work. "You're on far too familiar terms with me, and frankly I don't care for it. You should have spoken to me about what occurred, instead of shielding me from it, or whatever it is you thought you were doing--"

"I was investigating you," Emma admits, squaring her jaw. "There's a lot to this whole case, Madame Mills, and it goes way beyond your part in it. You really have no idea what I'm dealing with--"

"I have no idea? Get out of my house," Regina snaps, and Emma hesitates, so she repeats herself louder. "Get out!" 

Emma backs away, and then hurries for the door. 

Regina sticks her head in the air, indulging her anger as a defense, but she cools when Henry comes to check on the commotion.

"What happened to Emma?" Henry pouts, giving her puppy dog eyes. "Why did you yell at her? I wanted her to stay for dinner!"

"We don't always get what we want," Regina seethes; she’s irrationally furious that Emma's feelings are her son's first concerns. "Go and eat, and then I want you to head upstairs to begin your homework."

Marian looks like she wants to interfere, and Regina's well aware that three more sets of eyes are on her--Carla, Ursula and Mallory are watching her with disquieted expressions.

"This isn't fair," Henry argues, because she's always taught him to stand up for himself. "I know the truth about what happened. You're acting crazy, just because those bad guys hurt you—“

Regina grabs Henry by the wrist--gently, but powerfully and guides him into the dining room. "I won't have you talking back to me," she states. "Eat your dinner, and go straight up to your room. I don’t want to see you for the rest of the night.”

Henry makes a face and picks up his fork. He stabs at his carrots and proceeds to ignore her presence. 

She leaves the room, because her son is right--she overreacted, but she feels justified and safe in her fury, even if her heart aches over what she just told Henry. 

Ursula and Carla have slipped out in the time it's taken her to yell at her son. With a meaningful glance back at Mallory, Marian steps off to join Henry at dinner.

"You need to get ahold of yourself," Mallory frowns. "He's just a little boy. He doesn't know what he's saying." 

"I'm sorry. Is he your son?" Regina snidely asks. 

"He should have been," Mallory answers honestly, and Regina hates the look on her face--the genuine, sorrowful look that Regina's only seen in the direst situations. 

"You only discouraged me from having children," Regina husks, and goes to pour herself a glass of hard cider. "Don't act like you have regrets over what happened between us."

"I would have been there for you--but I distinctly remember you were intent upon punishing me," Mallory huffs with a quirk of her eyebrow, and takes the drink from Regina’s hand. "You don't want to behave this way in front of your son. You need to rest, and I'm not leaving here until you're tucked into bed."

Regina gives Mallory a scornful look and stalks off to her study. She hears Henry scampering by, and Marian ascends the stairs with him. It’s still far too early to go to bed, but he’ll do his homework, and perhaps Marian will read to him. 

Regina settles in behind her desk. Her first instinct is to call someone, but she’s indecisive over which numbers to push and her hand falters. 

Mallory looms in her doorway, and darkly studies the antique clock. “You shouldn’t have chased Emma Swan away,” she rumbles. “You want answers? Swan’s a sucker. She’s emotionally invested in this case, and she’ll tell you everything she knows if you’re patient enough with her. Then you can pick up the phone and call in a few favors. Deal with any remaining threat.” 

“I don’t need your advice.” Regina puts on a show of indifference, but she knows she won’t rest until she learns why she’s been targeted. “I could, however, use a favor. Will you stay here with Henry and Marian? I need to run an errand. I won’t be long.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *Warnings apply/brief refs.

Regina’s “errand” involves trailing after Emma once the agent is off duty for the day. She takes Marian’s coat and car keys, and leaves around seven o’clock when the next change in shift takes place. By then her buzz from the alcohol has worn off.

To the knowledge of her security team, she’s safe in the comfort of her home.

In actuality, she’s behind the wheel of Marian’s sedan, following Emma’s range rover through the city and towards the nightlife by the wharf. If her hunch is right, Emma Swan doesn’t just take an evening off. Regina parks on the street, far behind where Emma pulls over. 

It’s a breezy, rainy night, and the wind whips at the hood of Regina’s borrowed coat, even as she holds it in place. She sloshes through puddles and moves as fast as she can, while trying to shield her eyes from the splatter of raindrops. It’s hard to keep track of Emma, though the woman’s stride is so distinctive. 

They’re headed for a lounge or club, and it looks upscale enough that Regina might have trouble getting in with her plain, businesslike attire. 

All Emma will have to do is flash her badge, but the agent only nods to the woman at the door, and then passes inside without sharing any credentials. 

“I’m with her,” Regina breathlessly states, and gestures after Emma with a sweep of her arm. 

The woman at the door gives her an openmouthed stare, as if the idea either insults or shocks her. “With Swan?” she gapes. “Swan didn’t tell me she had a girlfriend.”

“Perhaps because I initially turned her down, and then made her beg,” Regina replies without batting an eyelash; then she pouts in mockery of her fictional, begging Emma. 

“Well, I’m Ashley,” the woman shrugs, and steps aside to allow Regina through. “Swan’s a regular, and I would consider her a friend, so be good to her, okay? She’s probably at the bar waiting for you.” 

“Thank you, Ashley,” Regina dryly intones. As she enters the lounge, she finds that the woman’s tip is helpful: Emma Swan is perched at the bar over a glass of whiskey. 

The bar itself isn’t what Regina assumed it would be—the interior is much shabbier than she expected, and it appears that Emma is _indeed_ taking a night off. 

Regina’s on the verge of turning around and leaving when Emma glances up and looks directly at her. So she begrudgingly strikes out across the small dance floor and slides onto the empty stool beside Emma. 

“What are you doing here?” Emma snaps, like a frustrated mother who has found her kid out of bed in the middle of the night. “Did you follow me? How did you even sneak away?”

“Your security team isn’t as observant as they should be. Neither are you, for that matter,” Regina softly answers, and nods to the bartender to bring her a drink. “I’ll have what she’s having,” she hums, with a flick of her eyelashes in Emma’s direction. Her poison of choice is never whiskey, and yet the smoky taste of it soothes her. The whiskey hits her bloodstream, and she fleetingly wonders about the woman at her side. Emma Swan excites all of her extreme emotions, and she can’t rationalize why that is, but she won’t think about it too deeply—she’s been under an extraordinary amount of stress, and in part, the fault for that lies with Emma. She’s still infuriated by what happened earlier, but she also has a plan. 

Regina will have to try to look past Emma’s errors if she wants to be successful with what she’s about to propose. “I want to help you find whoever was responsible for my abduction,” she calmly states. “Clearly the men who carried it out were not calling the shots, and although they're dead, I don't for a second think I'm safe. So, who is behind this? Are they drug dealers? Do they trade in weaponry? The best chance you have at this point is to use me to lure them -- ”

Emma takes a long gulp of her whiskey, and leans heavily on one elbow over the bar. She’s obviously not keen with Regina’s idea, but from the way she withdraws, Regina can tell that it’s a plan that the agent’s already been considering. 

“You can’t do it,” Emma flatly argues. “It’s really high risk. I doubt we’d get authorization, and no offense, but look at you.” Her hand flew wildly as if to indicate something, and Regina stares down at herself, perplexed by what that might be. 

“You’re like…I don’t know, some hot trophy wife,” Emma blurts out at last. “I’m not downplaying your accomplishments, but you have a finishing school background. Growing up, I went to the school of hard knocks. You, on the other hand… you’re…delicate—”

“Delicate?” Regina hisses in disgust, and she has half a mind to shove Emma to the floor. “Listen, Ms. Swan, you might have a bunch of files that tell you some of the details of my life, but you truly don’t know much about me.”

“Arm wrestle me,” Emma demands suddenly, and reaches out to take a flabbergasted Regina’s hand. 

Regina swats Emma’s gripping fingers away, but the agent balls her fist around Regina’s knuckles. 

“Give it your best shot,” Emma insists, and rolls up her long sleeve to reveal a well-rippled, muscular arm. “If you’re strong enough to beat me, then I’ll seriously consider what you’re suggesting.” 

“This is absurd,” Regina protests, but they move to a table for more leverage and she finishes her glass of whiskey for some liquid courage. She flexes her smaller muscle, and compares it to Emma’s well-toned bicep. 

If she’s going to play, Regina is going to play to win – and that will only happen through mental rather than physical strength. 

As their hands lock over the table, Regina leans completely forward and gazes at Emma with so much intensity that the agent blinks furiously and loses focus. Regina’s not afraid to take it one step further, to distract Emma with a further invasion of personal space, but she’s already significantly flustered her opponent. 

Emma releases her hand and draws back, utterly confused by what’s happening. “What the hell was that?” she splutters. 

“I was intimidating you, and it worked,” Regina triumphantly snorts, gloating over her victory as she stands up. 

“I don’t call that intimidation,” Emma practically growls, and they’re staring at each other heatedly, as if they might hit each other or share a turbulent kiss. 

“I call it a win by deception,” Regina finally murmurs, and then she waves at the bartender for another drink. She never drinks this much, but the whiskey in her veins makes her feel powerful, and she’s missed this feeling. She’s missed feeling powerful. 

There have been many times in her life when she was at the mercy of others, and she’s vowed to herself that this most recent experience wouldn’t break or even bend her—yet the sudden thought of the attack makes her sway a bit after all, or maybe that’s just another side effect of the drinking. 

Emma’s whining about a rematch, but Regina only chuckles quietly as she lifts her glass of whiskey to her lips. She settles back at the table, and Emma continues brooding until a waitress appears with some menus. 

The waitress is thin and tall, with fake eyelashes and wild red make-up that goes with the clip-in streaks in her dark hair. She’s friendly, and beams down at them with a bright smile as she squeals, “Em—l just came in for my shift, and I was so surprised to hear that you brought a girl around. Introduce us.”

Emma’s slumped in defeat, but the waitress’ exuberance quickly pulls her out of her mood. “What, you mean Regina?” 

Regina lifts her chin, and puts on her best poker face. “You could do a better job of introducing me, dear,” she rumbles critically. 

“I’m Ruby,” the waitress cheerfully pipes in, ignoring Emma’s odd behavior. “It’s nice to meet you, Regina. I’ll be right back with your food.” 

As Ruby bounces off to put Emma’s order in, still under the impression that the two women have been seeing each other for a while, Emma spins to face Regina. “Why does Ruby think we’re together?” she asks, spilling her whiskey on the tabletop in the process. This whole charade has brought out her latent clumsiness, and she’s behaving like an awkward teen on her first date.

Regina’s entirely too amused by the situation, and shrugs casually. “I told the woman at the door that we’d been on a couple of dates,” she remarks. “I’m perfectly capable of thinking on my feet when the situation calls for it, and I wasn’t sure if this was an exclusive lounge. It certainly looks nicer on the outside than it does on the inside.” 

Emma mops up the whiskey with a paper napkin and then thrums her fingers on the table. “I’m guessing this is all part of convincing me that you’ll be an asset to the investigation,” she concludes. “I have to admit, going on a date with me is a pretty nice bribe, but I’m still not sure you could hold your own in a fight.”

“Who ever said this was an actual date?” Regina scoffs, and re-positions herself so that she’s sitting cross-legged. It matters very little that Emma Swan is exactly her type, with a little less polish than she’s accustomed to – although if she’s being honest with herself, she’s always been attracted to more roguish individuals. 

Emma’s face flushes red with color, but she covers for it by reasoning aloud, “Well, we’re having a couple of drinks together. You mentioned I hardly know anything about you, and this seems like a perfect opportunity to get to know each other,” she suggests. 

Ruby interrupts them and drops a basket of hot wings in front of Emma. The waitress’ sudden appearance gives Regina the chance to really consider whether or not she wants to develop even a tentative friendship with Emma. It’s never been easy to have any kind of relationship with anyone, and she doubts it will be worthwhile. 

“You want to get to know me?” Regina asks, unaware of how her eyes shine at the prospect of that—but she’s still got her defenses up, and there’s a clear reluctance in her body language. How can she possibly trust Emma after the past week has been so hectic, and when the woman might have ulterior motives? 

“Yeah. Let’s get to know each other.” It’s the first time Emma smiles genuinely, and she takes a little breath of relief that lifts her shoulders. “I’ll start.” She swirls her whiskey around in her glass, and places it next to her wings almost as an after thought. “Since we’re on the topic of dating, I can tell you that the last woman I went out with broke all of my DVDs because she thought I was cheating on her. Then she found out that my only mistress is my job. It’s been a really long time since I went out on a date.”

Regina goes silent, and slips her arms in front of her chest as she swallows thickly. “I gathered that from the way that waitress reacted to my presence,” she admits. “It’s been a long time for me, too. I prefer relationships that don’t involve strings. It’s just easier that way, because I have Henry. He might take it personally if someone walked out of our lives.”

Her serious relationships have been complicated disasters—she can’t think of a single one that wasn’t an elaborate power play, or in the rare case of Mallory, a bonding of two brokenhearted souls. 

She keeps any other version of the past out of her head, because now isn’t the time to be thinking about anyone she truly loved—not in present company, not with Emma staring at her so curiously. 

Her eyelashes sweep up her tears before they fully form. “Shall we get another round of drinks?” she asks. 

“If we’re gonna talk about exes, then definitely,” Emma’s lips turn up in a slight smile, and she kicks back in her seat. “So what’s the deal with you and Mallory?”

“Excuse me?” Regina blinks, already on the defensive from this little exercise. 

“Carla mentioned you were involved with Mallory at one point,” Emma clarifies. “It seems like you’re still friends. Why’d you break it off with her?”

“She didn’t support the career path I was taking,” Regina cautiously explains. There’s no point in lying to Emma over this part of her history; her employment records are a matter of public record, and Emma’s ongoing federal investigation will no doubt involve interviewing more of Regina’s personal contacts. “I decided to work for someone who is known for making questionable ethical decisions. I’m sure you’ve already talked to Mr. Gold.”

“I might have spoken to him,” Emma says, without allowing her opinion of him to show on her face. “He does business with a lot of unsavory people, but all of his dealings are perfectly legal.”

“Of course they are,” Regina laughs, though she’s visibly riled by the reminder of Gold’s practices. “His personal record is spotless, because he manipulates everyone else into doing his dirty work for him.”

“Yeah,” Emma softly agrees, though she still seems to be mulling it all over. “Is that what he did to you?”

Regina begins to shake her head, because this whole conversation feels like a perfectly set trap. “It’s starting to seem like this is yet another interrogation,” she remarks. “Let’s turn this around, shall we? Why don’t you tell me what went wrong in your previous relationship, and all about your professional failings?” 

Emma fidgets at the prospect, but then nods seriously. “Sure,” she mutters aloud to herself, and locks eyes with Regina. “I mean your friend Mallory seems capable of digging up the dirt on me anyway. I’d rather you hear the basics from me.” She moves her glass around on the table, takes a quick drink, and then begins. “A couple of years ago, I was asked to interview these two guys.”

Emma trails off as if she’s decided to end her explanations there. Her story is choppy as she goes through a range of emotions; maybe she’s never told it to someone in her personal life before. “They were defectors, and they wanted to trade information for immunity and protection,” she breathes. “They told us the location of one of their bases. The problem is that their leaders anticipated what they would do. We raided the base, and they were ready. I sensed something was off, but I made a bad judgment call and pushed ahead. As a result, we lost most of my team. The rest of us became hostages. I spent a couple of weeks in a standing cell. Just when I was beginning to lose my mind, they moved me. They kept a few of us alive, and then finally it was down to just me and another guy.” She holds off then, taking another drink. “They let me go after a few months. I still don’t know why, but when I came back home, we had new trails to follow. So far they’ve all been dead ends. We bust a small crime ring here and there, but I think they’re all part of a much greater network.”

Regina’s taken aback by all of the sudden honesty, but she has the sense that there’s much more to learn about this piece of Emma’s past. 

“Anyway, I also had a girlfriend back then,” Emma continues, jutting her chin sharply. “Didn’t work out with her. She was my first and last serious relationship.” 

“Is that the woman who broke all of your DVDs?” Regina asks, if only because Emma’s looking overwhelmed.

“Yeah,” Emma shrugs, and picks up her glass of whiskey to toast with Regina. “That’s not all she broke.”

Regina raises her glass of whiskey and chinks it against Emma’s glass. She has a newfound respect for Emma, though she doesn’t say as much.

Ruby is back and forth to their table with orders, until Regina’s bleary-eyed from all of the drinking. It’s numbing, and as the night passes, Regina finds she wants to be numb. The thought of another sleepless night is what drives her, and even though her lips pucker in resistance, she swallows down another full glass.

When this one kicks in, she hears herself talking as if through a telephone that she forgot to hang up. “I think it’s time you take me home,” she tells Emma, mid-conversation. The churning of the alcohol in her stomach provides an added warning that they’d better hurry. 

\---

It seems like a long walk up the little stone path outside of Regina’s home. Emma carries Regina in her arms, and the woman hardly stirs in spite of the steady rainfall. 

Emma’s forced to pound on the front door, even though Henry must have gone to bed hours ago. There’s no other option, because she doesn’t want to invade Regina’s privacy by rummaging through her purse. As it is, she’s going to have to face both of Regina’s friends, and she doubts that’ll be pretty. 

Mallory props the door open, and her cool eyes travel over Regina as she waves Emma inside. “Take her upstairs,” she instructs. 

Marian’s waiting in the living room, but she overhears the conversation, and gets up to follow everyone to the staircase. 

Regina’s bundled in Marian’s borrowed coat to stay warm. They leave it to Marian to unzipper the wool, and remove Regina’s shoes. Emma then lays Regina out on the bed. 

Regina squints against the harsh light in her room and opens her mouth as if to speak. Her head falls back on her pillow. Tears stream unexpectedly from her eyes and her mascara smears a little. She sobs—a devastated, thick sound that comes from deep inside of her as she tries to sit up. 

They all try to help her—Marian puts pillows behind her, while Emma holds her arm and Mallory pushes the hair away from Regina’s wet face. Marian has to rearrange the pillows three or four times, until she finally finds the right positioning to make Regina comfortable. 

Regina clutches at the pillows and turns on her side to stare at her night table. None of them know how to address her, and Emma feels particularly uneasy in the silence. 

Marian’s the first to move and sinks down onto the divan in the corner of the bedroom. She grabs a throw blanket and wraps it around herself. “I’m going to sit here for a while,” she says. “Why don’t you two go get some coffee?”

Mallory strides into the hall, and Emma hovers at the end of the bed for a minute before joining the taller blonde. 

“What the hell happened to her?” Mallory asks, once they have coffee brewing and she’s setting out the mugs. Emma’s not sure how to respond, and she looks down at her feet as Mallory continues. “I have never seen Regina this drunk, and I’ve been with her through some pretty tough times.”

This isn’t so much a conversation as it is a chance to voice frustrations. 

“Is she seeing a therapist?” Mallory rants, and picks up the steaming coffee pot. “She should be seeing someone to help her deal with all of this. I damn well hope she has the good sense to do that.” 

Emma waits for her cup of coffee, and pours sugar and milk into it. “Maybe it would help if she talked to you or Marian,” she quietly states. “I think it would be best for her to speak to a friend. I guess therapy couldn’t hurt, either.” 

Emma’s only saying what she thinks Mallory will want to hear, and doesn’t bother to offer up more advice on the matter; she doesn’t actually believe that anything will “fix” Regina. Then again, she’s biased: she’s tried all kinds of therapies and none of them have succeeded in making her feel whole. After the failure of Operation Cobra, she’d been mandated to spend months in psych appointments and evaluations, and she had to lie just to get back to work. 

“What those men did to her…” Emma trails off when the realization hits that she’s speaking. 

Mallory and Marian can only guess, but Emma knows—she read the reports, and even if she hadn’t, she saw the handprints on Regina’s thighs. Either Regina had tried to cover herself, or forceful hands had pried the woman’s legs apart. 

“I’m not an idiot,” Mallory fumes, as if Emma has made some kind of direct accusation. “If all of my assault victims looked like she does, I’d win every one of my cases and put many more bastards in jail.” 

Emma wonders what might have happened if the guys she’d been pursuing had led her to the warehouse earlier in the evening. What would she have done if she’d come across their buddies in the act of violating Regina? 

She snaps herself out of the dangerous, checked out state she’s entering. “I’m gonna go… check on Regina,” she tensely mutters, then wanders back upstairs. 

She comes to a stop outside of Regina’s bedroom. From the doorway, she sees Marian sit on the bed and rub her friend’s back as Regina empties the contents of her stomach into a trash bin. Regina dry heaves a few times, and then withdraws.

They’re all constrained by what they won’t say, and the personal boundaries that Regina keeps firmly in place.

“I don’t need you to stay,” Regina mutters, when she’s able to be coherent again. “It’s just been a long time since I’ve gone out. I wasn’t expecting the drinks to be so strong.”

Mallory comes back into the room with a cup of coffee for Marian. “We’re all spending the night,” she gruffly informs Regina. “You have a guest bedroom and a couch, and one of us will sleep in here.”

It’s not a negotiation, and they all proceed to nurse their coffee. “I wish I had some of whatever you drank tonight to put in my coffee,” Mallory says in a lighter twang.

Regina concentrates on breathing; she shuts her eyes and only moves again to swivel her head towards Emma. “You stay,” she states succinctly. “Everyone else go to bed. I’m fine. I just need to sleep. I’m sorry for taking you away from your busy lives—”

Emma’s surprised by Regina’s choice, but doesn’t even question it; she sits in the armchair by Regina’s bedside, and looks expectantly at Mallory and Marian. 

“Girl, I was just going to go home and watch Netflix,” Marian remarks with a playful roll of her eyes. “By myself.” Her attempt at humor makes everyone relax, but Regina doesn’t seem to calm down until both Mallory and Marian step out of the room.

“Why’d you want me to stay?” Emma asks without wasting a second. 

Regina flips over and runs a hand over the bedspread, smoothing it. “Because we hardly know each other,” she whispers flatly. “But I know you’re capable of being quiet.”

Emma hunkers down in the armchair with a soft quilt for warmth. She shuts one eye and falls into a rapid silence—determined to prove Regina right. 

Regina adjusts her pillow, and Emma can hear the woman moving around under the blankets. Then silence. 

Sleeping in an upright position never bothered her, and Emma has no trouble dozing off. She’s in the middle of a strange dream when she’s startled awake by a noise—a loud gasp as Regina sits up in bed. 

“You okay?” Emma whispers. “Regina?” 

The next sound from the bed is a muffled whimper, and Emma follows her gut intuition – she gets to her feet and approaches Regina. 

Regina gazes up at her in the darkness, as if making a wordless request. Emma slides into the bed, and Regina lies down again but keeps her distance. 

Small shudders run through Regina as she takes in tiny gulps of air. 

They’re practically strangers, but Emma knows why Regina asked her to stay; Emma has already witnessed Regina in a vulnerable moment, and beyond that fact, they are beginning to understand each other. 

They don’t talk, and Emma respects the space between them, but she feels Regina’s eyes on her even in the darkness. She watches over Regina until her eyelids droop, and then she sleeps until the alarm clock buzzes irritably at six A.M.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Warnings apply.

Regina’s still dizzy when she stretches her hand out to silence her alarm. The first morning sunlight makes her recoil. She forces her eyes open, and rubs at the remnants of tears on her neck and face. Even while feeling the effects of a hangover, she’s the first person out of bed, and retreats into the bathroom before Emma moves.

Regina turns on the shower, and waits for heat to swarm the room before stepping into the stall. The water cascades between her shoulder blades, and she’s grateful for this chance to make herself presentable before anyone sees her. 

There’s a part of her clinging to the notion that she hasn’t been affected by what those men have done to her. Her friends clearly think she’s in denial, except the fading bruises down her front are a constant reminder. 

She fits her hands into the places where the men put their hands on her. Pressing down, it’s as if she’s trying to set her prints over theirs--to cover their marks with even deeper marks of her own. It hurts, and it hurts as she gingerly washes the spots where they were roughest with her. 

When she’s quiet, her mind has a terrible habit of skipping back to the moments when she was most degraded. Her body has internalized the back and forth movement of their thrusts, and it’s stayed with her afterwards like motion sickness. She backs against the tile wall in the shower and clutches loosely at her own elbows, holding onto herself.

When she emerges from the shower, it’s with purpose. She dresses in a pantsuit with a cream-colored silk blouse, and goes down to the kitchen to find everyone munching on cereal. 

Not a single hair is out of place on her head, and she moves towards the coffee pot while four sets of eyes trail after her. “Good morning,” she says to no one in particular, though her gaze lands on her son.

Henry pokes his spoon into the center of his bowl and pointedly ignores her. 

Mallory’s searching her face for any sign of tension or stress, but Regina’s perfect mask is back in place. 

“I have to get to work,” Mallory huffs. “I’ll ring you later, and you better pick up.” She walks over to give Regina peck on the cheek, and then says her goodbyes to Henry, Marian and Emma. 

“I should probably get to work too,” Marian says with hesitation. “Will you be coming to the office today?”

“I’m actually planning to take a few weeks vacation,” Regina announces, much to her friend’s surprise. “I have some matters I need to take care of before I’ll be ready to return to work, but I finished that proposal we were working on. I’ll fax it over to you later this morning.”

Marian gapes at her, and rests a hand on Henry’s back. “Is all of this a ploy to get me to stop worrying about you?” she bluntly asks. 

Henry scoots off his seat and races to get his school bag. Regina waits until her son is out of earshot before turning to Marian. “I’m fine. It’s just a little hangover,” she mutters weakly. 

“Why don’t you let me help you out with Henry this week?” Marian offers, unconvinced by Regina’s brave façade. “I’ll drop him off and pick him up today.” 

Emma’s hunching over a bowl of half-eaten wheat cereal, but she perks up as she listens to the conversation. 

Regina looks over Marian’s shoulder at Emma and then nods. “I would appreciate that.”

She trusts Marian to take care of her son, even though she worries about being away from him. 

Before Henry leaves for school, he drags her into the living room and loops his arms tightly around her waist. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “I didn’t mean what I said. I know you’re just scared.” 

Regina melts into Henry’s hug, and for a moment rests her chin on top of his head. “It’s alright, Henry,” she whispers. “I was angry with Emma—not with you—and the best way to express anger is by having a conversation with the person who has upset you. I shouldn’t have yelled at anyone.”

Emma appears in the doorway behind them, but steps back when she realizes they’re talking. 

Henry bends to pick up his school bag and then squints thoughtfully. “Are you going to be okay?” he asks. “You keep telling everyone you’re fine, but I don’t think you really are.” He rummages in his backpack and removes a favorite comic book, which he hands over to her. “Just remember – the bad guys always lose. It might seem like they’re winning now because you’re hurt, but they never win in the end.” 

Regina recognizes that Henry’s perspectives of good and evil are flawed; she knows it won’t be that simple, but she clutches the magazine anyway and reassures her son. “I feel much better, sweetheart,” she murmurs, smoothing out his stubborn hair as she swallows a lump in her throat. “And the bad guys can’t hurt anyone now. They’re gone.” It’s a partial truth, but she doesn’t want her son to think they might still be in danger, even if that is the case. He doesn’t need that burden. “Marian’s going to take you to school today and she’ll pick you up this afternoon. You’ll go to her house for the evening, okay? And Emma’s friends will stay right outside and keep you safe until I come get you, just in case there are any new bad guys lurking about—” 

Henry narrows his eyes, and tips his head to the side questioningly. “Why?” he asks. 

“I’m going to see Dr. Hopper,” Regina impulsively lies. Henry’s been to Dr. Hopper in the past, and he encourages her to go often enough. She has no intentions of making an appointment with the psychologist, but she’d rather that Henry believe that she’s doing something he’d consider productive. 

Much to her relief, the trick works, and Henry throws his school bag over his shoulder. “Okay,” he says, and heads over to the door with Marian. 

“Someone’s a good liar,” Emma remarks, with her thumbs stuck into her jeans’ pockets. “That’ll be useful when we use you as bait.”

Regina swings back towards Emma and agitatedly flicks the hair from her face. “So you’re going to let me help?” she asks. 

“I pretty much thought we had an unspoken agreement, yeah,” Emma shrugs, and goes to gather her belongings. “So, we should probably get you into some self-defense classes, and I’ll take you to the shooting range…”

“Ms. Swan, I established a non-profit for women escaping domestic violence,” Regina testily snaps. She might not possess the same physical strength as Emma, but she’s not entirely helpless, in spite of how it seems. “Do you honestly think I’ve never taken a self-defense course?” 

Perhaps it’s never crossed the agent’s mind that Regina fought back against her attackers. 

“If this is about what happened, then I shouldn’t have to tell you of all people that I was outnumbered and taken off guard,” Regina states, because of the consoling look Emma gives her. “I tried to defend myself.” 

“Hey, that’s not what I was getting at,” Emma protests, and inhales deeply as if she has a lot to say on the matter. “I didn’t assume anything. I just figured it couldn’t hurt to take some extra precautions, right?”

Regina balls her fists at her sides, and stiffly shakes her head. “Where to first, then?” she asks. 

“The diner,” Emma breathes. “That oat cereal you feed the kid looks like the stuff they give the animals at petting zoos.” 

“It’s high in fiber, Ms. Swan,” Regina sniffs, but grabs her jacket and slips her arms into it. “I’ve seen what you eat for breakfast. You eat a small petting zoo – eggs, ham, sausage. You should watch your cholesterol.”

They exit the house together and climb into a taxi, because they left Emma’s vehicle in town last night. 

Their first order of business is to pick up Emma’s car, and then they stop at an old-fashioned diner. 

Emma chooses a booth in the corner, where they can watch everyone come and go. There are small jukeboxes on each table, and everything is made of gleaming metal or leather. 

“Well so far this is productive,” Regina sarcastically grumbles, as she flips through a menu with heart attack foods. 

Emma’s distracted by the customers at the counter, but splits her focus to glance back at Regina. “I didn’t just come here for the breakfast,” she explains quietly, and inconspicuously sweeps her gaze to the right. 

There’s a man in a tweed cap sitting on a stool beside another man in dark leather, and nothing is out of place about them, except Regina instantly recognizes them both. 

“Regina,” Emma mutters, but Regina doesn’t react—she just continues to stare.

“So you’ve managed to dig up every one of my little secrets, have you?” Regina exhales, and she’s all ready to get up and confront the man in the cap, but she stays seated and stirs her coffee instead. 

“What do you mean?” Emma asks in genuine confusion, and she’s nodding towards the other man—the one in black leather, who reaches for his bill just in time to give Regina a glimpse of his face. “I’m keeping tabs on Booth. He’s been given an assignment, but he’s not sharing any of the details. Do you know the guy he’s talking to?”

“Know him?” Regina spares a dark glance at Emma and sips her coffee. “I ruined his life,” she softly hisses, with more animosity than she intended. “We -- worked together, briefly, on a domestic violence case. Because of the way he mishandled the processing of evidence, the perpetrator got off with a slap on his wrist, and my client went home to suffer at the hands of her abuser.” 

Emma raises her eyebrows curiously, as if she senses there’s much more to the story. “He’s a cop?” she wonders aloud, eyelashes fluttering rapidly as she re-assesses him. 

“Was a cop,” Regina curtly emphasizes, and she doesn’t have to tell Emma that she destroyed his career; it’s written all over her glowering face. “His name is Graham Humbert. Last I heard, he’d moved up north to enjoy his early retirement.”

“So, he has a possible motive for harming you,” Emma concludes, although it’s clear by the once-over she gives Graham that she doubts his involvement in Regina’s attack. 

“He may hate my guts, but no, I don’t think he was in any way responsible for what occurred,” Regina grumbles. If the FBI can do no better than investigating all of these dead ends, she lacks confidence in their ability to ever bring a resolution what happened in that warehouse. 

Their waitress drops two plates on the table without bothering to ask if they need anything else. There’s a palpable tension between Regina and Emma, and Regina understands the waitress’ eagerness to escape. 

“I’m sure you’ve dealt with incompetent cops in the past,” Emma mutters, as she leans forward to grab the salt and dumps it liberally over her eggs. “Why’d you get him fired? Was it personal?” 

“When I was a practicing lawyer, I took all of my cases very seriously,” Regina answers, side-stepping the actual question. She’s in no mood to explain her vendetta against Graham and it irritates her that Emma is perceptive enough to figure out that there must be another reason for her hatred of him. 

“It’s complicated,” Regina argues. “I’ve known him since I was in college. We were friends. All the more reason I couldn’t turn a blind eye to his mistakes. It was my reputation on the line, too.” 

Emma squints dubiously, but continues poking at the eggs on her plate. “Okay,” she frowns, and thankfully doesn’t press for more information. 

“It seems like you’re wasting a lot of resources by investigating me,” Regina softly intones. 

“You seem like someone who’s got a lot to hide,” Emma admits with a shrug. “You might think it’s worth it to protect your secrets, but it all comes out in the end. If there’s anything you’ve been holding back about this, Regina, you can tell me. I’m not going to put it all down in an official report.”

Regina’s frustrated to the point of tears, but her eyes barely water at Emma’s indirect accusations. She pushes herself up from their table, gathers her coat and rushes out the door before Emma can even put down her fork. 

Emma’s car is at the back of the parking lot, but Regina doesn’t move towards it. Being stranded is the last thing she needs, but she figures she’ll call a cab. Just as she’s about to pull out her cell phone, Emma comes running up behind her. 

“Wait,” Emma requests, gently grasping her arm. “Let’s just go for a ride, blow off some steam, and then maybe we can go over the details of what happened again. I just can’t help but think I’m overlooking something important. It’s weird, you know? The way they interrogated you and left—it doesn’t add up. I want to get answers for you. To do that, we have to understand why you were targeted in the first place. Right now we have nothing. Our analysts are starting to assume that these guys thought you were someone else. But I don’t believe that. I know I don’t exactly take the most orthodox approach to my job…but this investigation has been my whole life for years, and – and – ”

Emma stutters as Regina stalks away, but they both move towards the car. Regina opens the door, gets in, and buckles up her seatbelt, and Emma looks visibly relieved. 

It’s not until they’re on the highway that Regina acknowledges she’s heard Emma by clearing her constricting throat. “Henry had soccer practice after school,” she begins to explain. “Normally I pick him up and drop him off at home, but that afternoon was a little different. I was at one of our women’s shelters in Dorchester, and just as I was about to leave for the day, two volunteers approached me for advice. I got caught up in conversation and didn’t realize the time. I had to ask Marian to help out with Henry. It’s becoming a pattern lately.” She shakes her head and fidgets with her hands, unclenching and clenching her fingers. 

“When I went out to my car, a man tried to get my attention. That isn’t such an unusual occurrence. Sometimes abusive partners, husbands or boyfriends will come looking for someone, and we’ll have to turn them away. I’ve been harassed in the past. There’s a protocol we generally follow, but I just sensed this man was different. He didn’t come alone, and I could tell he was looking at my license plate number. I tried to run, but it had rained all evening, and I slipped. I dropped my keys and my purse—” 

It takes all of Regina’s will power to concentrate on recalling the events leading up to her capture. She remembers the impact of her knees against the pavement, and how the gravel ripped through her stockings. 

“Everything else happened exactly as I stated,” she tiredly chokes out. “They put me into a truck, took me to the warehouse by the waterfront, and questioned me for well… who knows how long? First they showed me pictures of people I couldn’t identify. Then they asked me about a special project. They wanted me to name the director, and explain the scope of the work. There was a box filled with files – but all of the documents were coded. They were hoping to find out more about the coding system. After a while, they grew frustrated and decided that interrogating me was futile. From that point on, I became nothing but a diversion to them. Three of the men left, but the other two…” Her eyes burn with traces of tears, and she throws her head back as if to laugh at her own misery, but no sound comes from her throat and she’s forced to look away from Emma. 

Emma solemnly grips the steering wheel until her knuckles go white with tension. “Yeah,” she mutters, pale and distressed. She manages to loosen her fingers, and slides a hand onto Regina’s shoulder. 

Regina can’t help the way her body jerks, or how her thoughts scatter. She suddenly has no faith in Emma Swan, and this whole plan to work together strikes her as stupid. It would be easy to lash out again, but she can’t seem to catch her breath or steady herself. The air sticks in her windpipe, and she’s only vaguely aware that Emma’s pulling to the side of the road. 

“You’re hyperventilating,” Emma explains, and they sit in silence for a long time while Regina uselessly tries to fill her lungs. 

Emma reaches across Regina’s lap to put the seat back, and then gets onto the road again. “When I was a kid, I had a lot of panic attacks,” she mutters gruffly. “Gotta let your chest expand.” 

Regina wheezes, and deflects by asking, “Panic attacks?” She's had them before, but she wants to know why Emma appears to be an expert on them. 

“Grew up in the foster system,” Emma says nonchalantly, as she peers in the rearview mirror. “Every day was a guessing game.”

Regina has no idea what Emma means by that, but she’s intrigued enough to murmur, “In what respect?” 

“I lived with an old religious lady who had a lot of cats and sometimes forgot to buy food,” Emma elaborates, and squeezes the wheel again. “After her, there was a couple with a bunch of their own kids. I moved in when I was nine, when most of their girls were in high school. They hung out with a bad crowd, and whenever they got caught doing something wrong, they made me take the blame. Some of my other foster families were nice enough, but then my foster parents would do something -- like take their actual kids out for the day. I’d have to stay home with a babysitter. It made me feel like I didn’t belong. I got into trouble on a regular basis, and one of my foster guardians told me that if I kept it up, I’d end up without a home. So I was always afraid that would happen. Then one day it did.” 

Regina’s not sure why Emma’s being so forthcoming, but she’s a bit more relaxed and listening attentively. “I’m sorry,” she whispers hoarsely. 

“I’m not,” Emma flatly replies, and glances swiftly in her direction. “How are you feeling?” 

Regina cycles through her emotions: anger and nervousness are all layered over hurt, fear and uncertainty. She’s still reluctant to fully place her trust in Emma, but being in the agent’s presence calms her. There’s no denying that Emma’s story has created a new soft spot in her defenses, either. “This is helping,” she sighs. “Thank you.”

It begins to pour as they turn off the main highway, heading northwest. Thick raindrops splatter on the roof in a soothing rhythm. 

“We’re here,” Emma announces, but here is apparently the middle of nowhere. There’s a huge barn at the end of the road, surrounded by tangled weeds and overgrown bushes. 

“This place looks derelict,” Regina remarks, and wonders how Emma ever came to find it. “When you said we were going to practice self-defense, I figured you’d take me to a gym.” 

“This is better,” Emma argues as her tires run over the knee-high grass. 

“It’s certainly more realistic,” Regina sniffs, un-amused. “We might actually get attacked out here, and that building looks like it’s infested with rats.”

Emma rolls her eyes and gets out of the car, leaving Regina to make up her mind whether or not to follow. 

“I’ve been coming here for years,” Emma claims, as she leads Regina towards the barn door. “I’ve always wanted to find out who owns the place, so I could buy it, and really fix it up.” 

“We’re trespassing?” Regina shrilly asks, but it’s raining too heavily to protest going inside. 

For the second time in the last forty-eight hours, she learns that looks can be deceiving: only this time, the interior of the barn is much nicer than its exterior. 

“I break a lot of laws,” Emma laughs, moving around some punching bags that she’s hung from the high rafters. “That’s why I went into law enforcement. If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.” She wrings out her damp hair and then peels off her coat. “So, put up your fists and show me what you’ve got.” 

“As many times as I’ve been tempted to hit you, I’d rather not,” Regina exhales, and gestures down at her suit. “I left my change of clothes in the car, and it’s not like there’s a locker room here.”

“I’ll grab your clothes and you can change in the corner,” Emma offers, and hurries back out into the rain. She’s not gone long enough for Regina to come up with an excuse. 

Regina wordlessly accepts the bag with her gym clothes, and steps into one of the darker corners to change. There are windows in the roof that do a poor job of filtering in the grey light from outside. Emma stands by the door to give her some privacy, but Regina still feels self-conscious as she removes her clothing. Her skin sprouts goose bumps and her body shakes, much to her dismay. It takes her much longer to dress herself because of it. 

“I’m ready,” Regina finally announces, and spins towards a weighted bag. 

“If you want to warm up by punching the bag, then be my guest,” Emma shrugs. “But I’m your opponent.” 

Regina stops short of slamming her fist into the bag, and whips around to raise her eyebrows at Emma. 

After a long moment of hesitation, Emma ambushes her. She secures both of Regina’s arms, and gets the smaller woman down on the floor without much effort. 

Emma’s upper body strength outmatches Regina’s, and all the smaller woman can do is thrash. 

She’s more conditioned to this kind of treatment than she’d like Emma to know—but when she meets Emma’s eyes, she can tell the agent’s stunned by her level of calm. 

Emma has her pinned, and Regina’s angry but not about to crumble. 

“Apart from a gasp and a flinch, you hardly reacted,” Emma gasps out. 

“Oh, you expected more? Why are you trying to terrorize me?” Regina asks venomously, and then gives Emma a rough shove to retaliate. 

Emma backs off and staggers over to a battered folding chair. “It would be a huge liability to let you help with the investigation if you couldn’t handle that,” she hastily discloses. “I figured you’d scream, and panic–-but you didn’t. You just seemed prepared for anything.”

They stare at each other, and Regina witnesses the thoughts clicking into place for Emma. 

“There’s only two types of people I’ve met who respond like that when faced with potential harm,” Emma explains, flaring her nostrils as she speaks rapidly. “Agents who have been trained to endure it, and foster kids who have accepted it as a fact of life.”

Regina glowers at the floorboards, and then flicks her eyes to Emma. “Are we going to practice, or not?” she growls. 

It’s the only confirmation of Emma’s assumptions that she’s willing to give. She thinks Emma might be blunt and ask her outright about past incidences of abuse. For now, Emma just shuffles forward, holds out her hand and helps Regina onto her feet. “You’re going to have to make up for your lack of strength with speed,” Emma mutters. “I’ll show you the best ways to dodge and block.” 

They go through a few simple exercises about anticipating the type of attack before Emma’s cell rings. 

It’s DuBois on the line, and he criticizes Emma loudly enough for Regina to hear him, too. “Now I know you didn’t plant a bug on a fellow agent,” he rumbles. “Did you, Swan? Booth saw you at the diner this morning. That can’t be a coincidence, can it?”

Emma swears she has no idea what DuBois is raving about. “Did he find a bug?” she asks. “If Booth’s so sure I bugged him, then he should have evidence.” 

DuBois sighs at her and hangs up, unwilling to dispute the matter further. Regina figures they’ll address it again at a later date, along with all of the other complaints against Emma. 

Emma tosses her phone to the side, and starts wrapping up her hands with boxing tape. “Let’s try keep our partnership a secret for now,” she suggests. “I can tell you don’t want your friends or Henry finding out. And if I propose our plan to my boss, he’s going to shut me down on principle. As it is, he’s pissed that you’re back in Boston, and if it wasn’t for the fact that the guys who broke my cover are now dead, I’d be kicked off the job.” 

“You’re not going to get authorization for this? And to think I was just starting to gain confidence in you,” Regina playfully grouses, but she’s perfectly aware of how their plan will be perceived. She’s still sporting days’ old injuries, and Emma’s unconventional practices have been called both insane and brilliant within Regina’s range of hearing. All of the agents that work with Emma seem to respect her, though, and that has to count for something. “So did you plant a bug on your colleague?”

“On Booth?” Emma snorts. “No, he’s just really sloppy. He’s lucky I’m on his side.” She swipes at Regina, and looks moderately impressed when Regina avoids her. “You’re already getting quicker on your feet. Now you just have to stop wearing all of those impractical heels.”

“I’ll have you know that I could take someone’s eye out with my Louboutins,” Regina grumbles. She’s about to hit the bag in front of her when Emma snags her by the wrist and pulls her close. 

They stand like that until Emma’s face goes red, and Regina realizes she should be trying to break loose. She puts all of her weight into it, but Emma’s arm is secure at her waist. 

It’s awkward when they finally separate and gravitate back together; it’s magnetism when their eyes meet intensely and fixate. 

They go through more drills, which require Regina to defend herself or make fast judgment calls. The training session is demanding and leaves Regina feeling exerted. She’s breathing heavy and there’s sweat on her forehead.

“Hey, let’s take five,” Emma insists, and drags the foldout chair over to Regina. “Don’t want to overdo it.”

Regina sits gratefully, and hunches over without worrying what Emma might think of her posture. “So how did you find this place?” she asks. 

“Got stranded out here,” Emma shrugs, and then glances around fondly at the small improvements she must have made to the abandoned barn. “Flat tire. I was a new recruit at the time. Didn’t have much money, or even a cell phone, so I spent the night. Kept coming back afterwards.” 

Regina rubs at a sore spot on her shoulder. She's on the verge of asking to wrap it up for the day when Emma announces they're done.

"We should head back before we hit lunchtime traffic," Emma simply says, and begins packing up her gear.

Their session has lasted no longer than an hour, and Regina recognizes it's her fault they're stopping. Her healing process will be slow, and Emma's sensitive to that, but that doesn't mean Regina's anymore patient with herself. She grudgingly grabs her belongings and gets back into Emma's car.

"I suppose I don't need Marian's help with Henry this afternoon," Regina mutters.

"It's probably not my place to say anything, but earlier when you were telling your kid you'd be seeing Dr. Hopper, I thought that might be a good idea," Emma breathes, licking her lips in worry.

"How do you know that Dr. Hopper is my shrink?" Regina softly growls, although the question doesn't require an answer.

Emma's investigation has allowed her to invade Regina's personal life. If it comes to it, Regina has no doubt that Emma will read all of Dr. Hopper's notes on her. The thought of that sends her into a rage. "Obviously it's your job to interview anyone who could be linked to what happened, but is it really necessary to violate every last bit of my privacy?"

"What are you talking about?" Emma scrunches her face in confusion, wincing at the way their conversation has dovetailed.

"I assume you don't care about doctor-patient confidentiality," Regina hisses. She's overreacting, and a part of her knows that it would be best just to keep her mouth shut, but she's never been good at doing what's best. "Are you going to ask Dr. Hopper to see my files?"

"No," Emma stresses, "I just thought it would be a good idea to talk to someone about the incident. Last night you didn't sleep well. That seems to be a regular occurrence, and you’ve had all of these outbursts--" Her eyes widen, and she flashes a quick glance in Regina's direction, as if she's finally realizing that offering her unsolicited advice is a big mistake.

Regina stares unseeingly through the window and says nothing, but the silence seems to bother Emma more than another outburst. 

They’re both preoccupied enough that they don’t take notice of the car that’s trailing after them. It’s not until they reach an intersection outside of Regina’s neighborhood that Emma spots the car. 

Emma makes a wrong turn, which earns a questioning look from Regina. “Do you need directions?” Regina asks snappishly. 

Emma’s gazing into the rearview mirror at a black SUV and Regina spins around to watch it speed up and make the light. 

“We’re being followed,” Emma explains, and zigzags around another car to put some distance between them and their pursuer. 

The early afternoon traffic is just heavy enough to get the SUV off their tail, but the driver’s persistence keeps him coming no matter how many obstacles they put in his way. 

“So do you have any experience with firearms, yes or no?” Emma asks, and unlocks a safe compartment in the center console that Regina failed to notice earlier. The console stores a pair of glocks, and a gun that surely doesn’t meet the FBI’s tight regulations. 

“My father had a collection of rifles when I was growing up,” Regina states noncommittally, and Emma rolls her eyes as she steers with one hand and reaches for her handguns with the other. 

The SUV suddenly veers and takes a turn, disappearing down a side street. 

“He’s trying to catch us at the next light,” Emma huffs and begins rolling down her window. “That’s a short cut.” 

“What are you going to do?” Regina rasps in concern, and presses her back into her seat. She’s useless in this situation, and that both frustrates and panics her. 

Emma takes aim with her gun as the SUV barrels onto the main road again and swerves in front of them. Her finger rests over the trigger, and yet Emma falters when she gets a glimpse of the driver and passenger. Rob’s face conveys his fury, though Jones seems to be laughing his ass off. 

“You’ve been ignoring all of my calls,” Rob growls as he approaches, turning a shade of bright red that makes him look sunburned. “When were you planning to check in with me? The last 24 hours have been a nightmare.”

“Sorry,” Emma replies, though she doesn’t seem sorry at all. “I figured you’d still be busy with all of that paperwork I left you. Besides, weren’t you off duty for the last 24 hours?”

“Yes, which is why you were supposed to check in with Jones,” Rob explains far too patiently, as if he’s speaking to a four-year-old instead of a grown adult. Regina assumes he’s a parent, because his anger passes quickly into relief. “Emma, we’re all friends—and I worry about you.”

Jones, on the other hand, appears unconcerned with Emma’s carelessness. 

Emma blinks rapidly, more affected by the sunlight over Rob’s head than by his lecture. She stashes her guns back in the center console. “I talked to DuBois. And I would have called you, but there were these two assholes who were tailgating me. I can’t hold a phone and my gun in one hand. I mean, I probably could if I practiced enough, but I might have pulled the trigger and then Jones would need a second prosthetic.” 

Tilting her head indecisively, Emma gestures for Rob to step away from her car. “We’ll meet you back at Regina’s place.”

Stomping her foot on the gas, Emma zips down the street and drives around the block to Regina’s house. 

“Why did you do that?” Regina asks, at the risk of sounding accusatory. “Granted, the guys are idiots for following you so closely, but they obviously care about your well-being. Why do you have to act that way?”

“This coming from a woman who’s like that with everyone,” Emma cleverly points out, as she parks on the side of the road in front of Regina’s home. 

“I know why I do it,” Regina grunts testily, and then shakes her head. “Why do you?” 

Emma shrugs evasively, and unbuckles her seatbelt. “Come up with any explanation that makes sense to you and we’ll go with that,” she states, unwilling to cooperate for this little exercise in self-reflection. “I’m an orphan. I’m jaded because of my job. Those are my personal favorites. Take your pick.”

They slip into uneasy silence, and then go inside, where they’re joined by Rob and Jones. Regina decides to serve them coffee simply as an excuse to get away from the commotion. 

Emma and Rob bicker back and forth, one-upping each other with ridiculous taunts. 

In the kitchen, Regina grabs a silver tray and arranges her mugs on top of it, along with her famous apple tarts. She carries the platter into the living room, and observes as all three of the agents stuff their faces. 

“Eesh is Dull-ish-shush,” Emma moans out between bites. 

“So, have you been trying to track down anyone on DuBois’ list of leads, or have you just been stalking me today?” Emma asks Jones as she wipes the crumbs from her jeans. 

“I figured it was a priority to make sure you were still alive,” Jones unenthusiastically replies. “And we’ve been asked to halt all work until after this afternoon’s meeting. Didn’t you get the notification?”

Emma grabs her phone and flips through her messages, apparently finding none from DuBois or whoever could have authorized a meeting. "DuBois," she mumbles. "That sneaky bastard. He wasn't going to invite me?" 

"I am certain it was an oversight," Rob murmurs. He cheerfully accepts second helpings of coffee and pastry, as if his professional duties are now the furthest thing from his mind. 

Regina takes some time to study her guests. She begins with Emma, who sits sandwiched between the guys and whose rebellious blonde curls tumble in every direction. Emma stares back at Regina, oblivious to how starved she looks even though she's just eaten. 

Regina forces herself to break eye contact, and focuses on Rob. His sandy blonde hair is mostly slicked back, but there's a part that defies grooming. He fidgets a bit as if there's music in his head, or as if he's having a conversation with himself. 

Regina wonders how long Rob and Emma have known each other. 

"You have a nice home," Jones remarks, drawing Regina's attention last. "Though it is rather big for just you and your boy." He has the habit of making himself seem disinterested, but he appears mildly intrigued by the house. "You know, one thing we've yet to turn up is any record of the boy's father." 

"That's because he doesn't have one," Regina softly states, and re-fills her cup with coffee. "I've been raising him on my own since the day he was born." She won't talk about Henry, not after she's already been forced to disclose so much for the good of the investigation. All of her personal life has been laid bare in ways she never could have imagined. 

“What I mean to say is that we haven’t been able to find information on a second parent, adoption, or sperm donor,” Jones continues, proving to be more aggressive and persistent than Emma. “But that information must exist, unless you magically brought him into this world without any assistance.”

“Hey, lay off for now,” Emma warns, and gives Jones a light slap to the stomach. “We need to get going.”

Regina appreciates Emma’s intervention, though it’s easy to see that they’re all curious. She’s thankful that they all have a meeting to attend soon, even after it hits her that she’ll be alone—or as alone as she can be with constant protection. There’s always a van parked out front. 

This is an unusual circumstance for everyone involved, but she doubts she’ll have endure much more probing. She’s only glad she’s gotten to this point without hearing from her mother, though she’s secretly been hoping to receive a call from her father. It’s bothersome that she hasn’t heard from him; he was the type of man who scooped her up when she so much as scraped a knee. She wonders how much her family knows, and who has been assigned to talk to them. 

She’s slipped off into a distracted silence, but Emma pulls her out of it with an awkward touch. “You going to be alright?” Emma asks. 

“Yes,” Regina rasps automatically. 

The other agents are already getting up, and Rob gives Regina a soft smile as he says, “Thanks for the snack. We’ll see ourselves to the door.”

Jones stares open-mouthed for a moment, and then nods along with Rob. 

Emma’s anxious to go, if her frequent glances at her colleagues are any indication. “I’ll drop by later,” she promises.

Then all at once, Regina’s left sitting on her couch with a bunch of empty dishes strewn across her coffee table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for any feedback you may leave. It means everything.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Warnings apply.

Some abbreviations used for the sake of realism in this chapter: 

ATF = Bureau of Alcohol, Firearms and Explosives. The ATF tries to prevent the sale of illegal weapons, and is sometimes seen to be in competition with the FBI. 

DEA = Drug Enforcement Administration. The DEA tries to stop the smuggling of drugs. 

The FBI works closely with both organizations. 

 

\-------------------------------------------

 

DuBois holds the meeting in a room with closed shutters, where they can all assemble in rows and follow along with the information he pulls up on a large screen.

Emma’s the last one through the door. Unlike the rest of the respectable agents that wear suits, she’s dressed in jeans and her conspicuous red jacket. She pushes through the group of her colleagues, but quickly realizes there’s no seat for her. 

The regional Chief of Security, “Blue” Rosamond Bradford—or as they like to call her, “Big Blue” — has taken a spot in the front and center. She already seems riled up, although no one has spoken to her and DuBois’ presentation hasn’t even started. 

Intelligence analyst Eugenia Lucas waves Emma over and points to a vacant chair she’d overlooked. “Always making a grand entrance,” she chuckles. “Aren’t you, Swan? It’s just as well that you ended up sitting next to me. Ruby tells me you finally have a lady friend. Said you brought the girl around to the bar.”

Out of everyone she works with, Eugenia knows her best. Eugenia’s never once judged her, and the older woman is always insisting that Emma call her “Granny.” It’s because of Eugenia that Emma hangs out at the little bar where the analyst’s actual granddaughter works. 

Emma blushes and clears her throat to explain. “She’s not exactly my ‘lady’ friend,” she mutters, but then DuBois approaches his podium and everyone falls silent in the conference room.

“Let’s begin by reviewing what we know,” DuBois states, and clicks a button on the remote he’s been clutching. 

Pictures appear on the screen of the men Emma tracked down to the warehouse. Nicholas Berkeley and Charles Rivers look like a couple of average guys, and as far as Emma’s concerned, they were average criminals while alive.

It’s the other men in the pictures that interest her—James Spencer and Gregory Mendell. Spencer was a good-looking man, with a strong jaw and perfect teeth. Mendell somehow seems skittish and on edge in his photo. Emma’s throat tightens as she thinks of Regina, and what these men did to her.

“First off we have Nicholas Berkeley and Charles Rivers,” DuBois recaps. “On the books, Berkeley and Rivers were contractors. They were brought into this whole operation recently. We interviewed some of their customers. It’s obvious these men needed to keep their day jobs. James Spencer initiated contact with them only a few months ago. Their role involved moving inventory—primarily drugs. Among the four, Spencer was clearly the boss, and he had a knack for covering up his crimes. Not even so much as a parking ticket on this guy.” He clicks to progress to the next slide, bringing up an image of an aging man with white hair and a sneer on his face. “James Spencer was also the son of the billionaire entrepreneur Albert Spencer. So far, Albert has been cooperating with our agents. The guy seems to be clean, but of course we’ll keep our investigations of James Spencer’s family open--” 

DuBois paces the floor and clicks again, back onto the images of the four men. “Last we have Gregory Mendell. He grew up in Southie. He lived with his grandmother until she passed away, and then he became a ward of the state. He had a history of alcoholism, drug abuse and documented mental illness. And he had a record.” He flips to another slide with Mendell’s mug shot. “Before hooking up with Spencer, Mendell was out there selling coke and heroin to teenagers. Unfortunately the BPD couldn’t nail him for that. Instead, he was brought in on charges of theft and given a one-year sentence, which he served from 09 until 2010. Both Mendell and Spencer interrogated and tortured our victim, Regina Mills—”

Big Blue is listening attentively to DuBois when her phone rings, and she’s forced to step out. 

Blue’s hasty exit distracts everyone except for Emma. She’s staring at the screen, unaware that her breathing has gone shallow. Her mind skips back to her conversation with Regina, and the part where Regina stated that there were two men who harmed her—and three more who were present during her interrogation. 

“That’s not right,” Emma thoughtlessly states out loud. “I spoke to our victim earlier today. We went over the events again, and she told me that after three of the guys left, there were two that stayed behind.”

There should be five men in total, but instead there’s only four on the screen. It’s simple math, unless Regina misreported the numbers. She’d trust anyone’s ability to count before she’d trust any of her colleagues to pay strict attention when taking a formal statement. If she glances left or right, there are at least five people in this room that are texting. Emma suspects someone really screwed up. If she has her pick, she’d like it to be Jones, or any of the guys that are playing candy crush on their cell phones right now. 

“Are you sure, Swan?” DuBois asks, but it’s more for the benefit of everyone else in the room than because he needs her reassurance. “If that’s the case, we’d better get word out to Marco and Michael. They’re watching the victim’s residence. We’ve got additional teams at her place of work, and her son’s school. Contact them immediately.” 

A few of her colleagues are about to make the calls when Big Blue breezes back into the room and takes note of the topic of conversation. 

“We’ve already brought in the fifth perpetrator,” Blue states. Her tight-lipped frown shows her displeasure with everyone’s incompetence. “Or, rather, the ATF brought him in. I’ve been on and off the phone with their chief investigator for days. They picked up our trash last week.” She walks to the front of the room, and snatches the remote from DuBois’ hand. 

“The fifth perp’s name is Jefferson,” Blue explains. “He had a crate of weapons that match with the ones we found in the abandoned warehouse. He was trying to sell them. The ATF has already put him through several interviews. They’ve been able to confirm Agent Swan’s suspicions. These smaller crime rings we’ve been dismantling have direct ties with the terrorist network, ORACLE – the organization that assassinated more than a dozen of our best agents during Operation Cobra.” 

Blue spares Emma a fleeting glance, and then addresses the rest of the room. “Jefferson is part of a group of defectors, dealing in drugs and weaponry. He credits ORACLE with creating a powerful bio-weapon, and claims his own organization recently acquired it. The good news is that we’ve discovered they don’t know how to use it. The technology is too advanced. The bad news is that this is a now federal emergency, because it’s only a matter of time before they figure it out. We can expect to deal not only with the ATF and DEA on this, but other government agencies as well. Be prepared to cross your T’s and dot your I’s. If I’m forced to do it for you, I’ll give you two T’s and one I—as in the word retirement.” 

“A bio-weapon?” DuBois repeats, mystified by this latest revelation. “Swan, any thoughts on this?”

Emma frowns and crosses her arms, unaware that she’s hunching in her seat. She’d retreat if she could, but for now all she can do is face forward and ignore her fellow agents. It’d be easier if they weren’t staring at her as if all of this is her fault. 

In the last weeks, she’s been dedicating far too much time to protecting Regina, and not doing enough legwork of her own. She should regret getting closer to Regina, but there’s a part of her that just wants to get up and leave the meeting. With so many new uncertainties surrounding this case, her impulse is to take care of Regina first. 

“Let’s get Mills and her kid to a safe house for the time being,” Emma suggests, automatically answering and then hesitating for a moment to come up with a plan of action. “I think it’s pretty clear why Spencer was interrogating her. He must have believed that Mills had some special knowledge of how to make the weapon work. That means his organization might still be operating under the assumption that Mills has value to them. We still have to work out how she’s connected to this mess. In the meantime, while we continue to investigate, I say we make a deal with Jefferson. If he rats on ORACLE and his own organization, he goes free. Even if he doesn’t, I say we let him go and follow him.”

“You’re forgetting one little detail,” Jones pipes in, sounding agitated. “We don’t have authority to let Jefferson go.”

“We don’t have many other options,” Emma confidently argues. “We should convince everyone to get on board with our plan. We keep wiping out the smaller operations that support ORACLE, but we need to take drastic measures if we want to bring a stop to their activities altogether. It’s been nearly two years since our last major breakthrough. We’ve been out there doing all that we can and we have nothing to show for it.” 

“Let’s get back out there,” DuBois commandingly interrupts, although Emma can discern his worry. “No one takes a break until we uncover something. In the meantime, let’s keep conversations open with the ATF. We’re going to have to cooperate to get things done.”

The meeting is quick to adjourn after Blue receives another phone call, and DuBois gives the word. Emma’s about to rush off, but Granny halts her with a glance and a raised, bushy eyebrow. 

“I’ve been working on the files you collected from that warehouse,” Granny sniffs. “It seems like some of them have gone missing, but I have a few complete documents. They look like medical records. I won’t conclusively say that’s what they are, but it’s a fair bet.”

Emma recalls how she stuffed a couple of files into her shirt, and immediately regrets her decision. “I might be able to get you the rest of those records,” she mutters. “Will you let me know if you figure them out?”

“Of course,” Granny chuckles. “But only if you come to my retirement party. It’s next week, and you haven’t RSVP’d. Invite your new lady friend.” 

“Sure,” Emma agrees. “I’ll be there.” She should be worried about fulfilling her promise, especially because it includes a lady friend she doesn’t have, but Emma has stopped stressing over events that are more than a few days in the future. All of her obligations will be meaningless if she doesn’t make it through the current moment. 

\---

It’s raining again when Emma emerges from the office building. DuBois wants her to follow Albert Spencer and run surveillance on the businesses the Spencer family owns. In the past, Emma might have been eager to return to a more active role. Now she can only think of Regina, and how vulnerable the woman must feel. Regina and Henry will be moved to a safe house tonight. It’s just a temporary precaution, and just until Emma’s division has more answers, but it’s still another interruption to Regina and Henry’s life. 

Emma impulsively detours, and she’s back at Regina’s place just in time for the rain to clear. She knocks on the front door out of courtesy, though agents Marco Gioseppo and Michael Tillman are already inside. Both Gioseppo and Tillman are waiting in the foyer, shuffling their feet awkwardly and keeping each other entertained. It seems like it’s been a tense night, and they’re trying to reassure one another. 

Gioseppo lets her in, and Emma goes straight upstairs to Regina’s bedroom. The door is open, and Emma stupidly forgets to knock. 

Regina startles easily and clutches the edge of the dresser, all while glaring over her shoulder at Emma. “What are you doing here?” she demands. “I was told you were re-assigned.”

“You were told right,” Emma admits, slipping her thumbs through her belt loops. “I’m still working the case. I’ve just been asked to keep an eye on someone.”

Regina gives her an expectant look, and then folds a few pairs of black pants, which she puts into her already overflowing suitcase. She must be worried about how long the investigation will drag on, because she’s packed up practically her whole wardrobe. 

“Albert Spencer,” Emma explains, as she helps Regina close the suitcase. 

“Spencer?” Regina echoes, with a furrowed brow and her mouth agape. 

“Do you know him?” Emma asks, but it’s unnecessary. 

Regina’s body language has completely altered, and her eyes are unfocused. “Yes,” she finally mumbles. “I know him.”

“We could use that to our advantage,” Emma breathes out after recognizing that Regina’s starting to drift. She doesn’t want Regina involved with the investigation now, and not just because the stakes are suddenly higher. All it’s taken to change her mind is a few hours spent gazing at the men who held Regina against her will.

“You’re right,” Regina rapidly agrees. “I should speak with him.” 

Emma does a double take, and adrenaline pumps fast through veins. “That isn’t what I meant,” she clarifies. “I just thought you’d be able to give me the low-down.”

“I can do better than that,” Regina reasons, and broodingly braces her arms over her chest. “If our paths happen to cross, would there be any harm in speaking to him? You haven’t mentioned how he’s been linked back to the crime.” 

“Through his son, James,” Emma discloses, and shifts uneasily from foot to foot. She’s entrusted Regina with too much, and this could have negative consequences – not only for her career, but she also has no idea how this information will affect Regina’s emotional state. 

“I’ve never met his son,” Regina states, and then notices the disquieted way Emma’s watching her. 

“You’ve met him,” Emma replies. 

Regina swallows and after a moment, gives a slow nod of understanding. 

Emma gently touches Regina’s arm, then winces at the inadequacy of that small, comforting gesture. 

“You can put me on a wire,” Regina offers, all the more adamantly. “Either way, I’m going to have a little chat with Mr. Spencer.”

“If he’s somehow responsible for what happened, then you’re only making it easier on him,” Emma tactlessly protests. 

“And on me,” Regina huskily rumbles. “Living like this isn’t an option. Even a few more weeks of this would be unbearable. I want answers.” 

Emma has spent years of her life dealing with this investigation. She’s been through debriefings, psychological evaluations, and painfully long meetings. For that reason, and probably several others that she’s not willing to admit, she’s sympathetic to Regina’s need for immediate action. Their lives have become entangled and defined by a common enemy, and she realizes that maybe they’re better off facing any threat together. “Let’s check on Henry, and then we’ll pay Spencer a visit.” 

\--

Until they arrive at their destination, Regina gazes out into the darkness at the passing headlights. She’s clutching the seat tight enough to worry that her nails will leave marks in the leather. For all her bravado, she’s dreading her reunion with Albert Spencer. He’s someone she hasn’t seen since her young adulthood. In spite of that, she knows Spencer will remember her. How could he not? She has a reputation in his small, wealthy social circle, and those people don’t ever forget. 

“I’ll be able to hear the whole conversation,” Emma explains, with frequent glances at Regina. 

Rob and Killian are also along for the ride, although Regina’s not sure why. They’re not following protocol, and Emma’s already suggested that this vigilante maneuver could result in suspension. 

The presence of the other two agents has made Regina reluctant to talk. She’s fiddling with the belt on her coat and giving in to all kinds of nervous habits. 

Emma parks outside of Spencer’s office building, which is several storeys high with a lounge in the lobby. “He’ll either be in his office, or downstairs in the lounge having dinner,” Emma claims. “Around seven thirty, he usually leaves to get drinks at a club in the area, or goes home.” 

Emma switches seats with Rob, who has been sharing the bench seat in the van with Regina. “Come in the back and I’ll get you wired up,” Emma requests, and they both move into the central area of the vehicle.

Regina opens the back of her dress, and moves her hair out of the way. She takes a deep breath as Emma sinks down across from her, and hands her an earpiece. 

They stare at each other while Emma cautiously attaches a clip to her skin, then a thin, transparent line that looks nothing like what Regina has seen on television. 

It doesn’t take long, but Emma’s fingertips leave behind goose bumps, and a scarlet blush over Regina’s chest and neck. 

“I’m right here,” Emma asserts. “If I think you’re in trouble, I’m coming inside. If you want us to pull you out at any time, say the word and we’re on it.”

Regina repeats these reassurances in her head as she exits the van. Emma’s selected a parking spot near construction scaffolding. The neighboring buildings are in various states of renovation. Spencer’s building is the only one that’s lit up and inviting. 

The lounge downstairs must be popular, because it’s busy for a weekday. The patrons wear suits and formal attire, though not all of them are conducting business. Several people cast curious glances in her direction, and she feels their attention linger as she addresses the maître d’ with an alluring smile. “I’m meeting Claude Du Maurier for dinner,” she lies. 

Claude doesn’t exist, but there’s a reservation in his name, thanks to Rob. The maître d’ seats her, and she orders a drink, then scans the room for Spencer. She’s prepared to wait, but her eyes fall on him immediately. 

He sits alone at a table large enough for six, and tucks into a steak dinner. His stern demeanor is ever intact, even as he sips his scotch. 

She’s not sure what to do next, or how to initiate a conversation from across the dining room. Then Spencer catches sight of her and lifts one hand to wave her over. 

Regina rises and ventures to his table, extending a hand as she introduces herself. “Regina Mills.” 

“I recognized you,” Spencer sneers, stabbing his fork into his meat. “You’ve been in the news for your charitable causes and pro bono work. I hope no one at my company is being slapped with a law suit.” 

Regina shakes her head, and folds herself into the chair across from him. Spencer must be very good at feigning ignorance, or he’s not actually a conspirator in her capture and torture. 

She can’t believe he doesn’t remember her from her childhood. 

“What is it, then?” Spencer grunts, and scrutinizes her more closely. His eyes are drawn to the scar on her lip, and he realizes who she is after another long moment of staring. 

“You just looked familiar,” Regina vaguely explains, and she wonders if they can both acknowledge that they know each other without bringing up specific past events. 

“Ah, yes.” Spencer beckons the waiter to take his plate, then cuts the end off a thick cigar. “We’ve met. It’s been a long time. A rather long time. How is your father?”

“He’s well,” Regina breathes, fighting the urge to wring her hands. “How is your wife?”

“Dead,” Spencer spits, and pockets his cigar cutter. “Died nineteen years ago, actually. Left me with a boy I couldn’t control. Nothing could straighten him out. He’s dead now, too. Died this week.” 

“I’m sorry for your loss.” Regina’s voice is thick, almost wet with emotion, but a flicker of loathing shoots through her eyes. She feels no pity for James Spencer, or this hardened man who on a whim speaks so flippantly of his son’s passing. It’s not until she glances up again that she notices his sorrow, which he attempts to conceal with a stiff upper lip. 

“Well. It seems like you’ve done alright for yourself, in spite of your insufferable mother, and the trouble that my dear friends made for you,” Spencer remarks, shifting the focus of the conversation back to Regina. “You were a wild one, true, but you seem to be reformed now--” 

She bristles at that, though she does nothing to betray how his comments have shaken her. 

“I wish my son had as much gumption,” Spencer ponderously continues. “I think when someone like yourself rises through adversity, they come out much stronger on the other side. I, for one, never had a single opportunity handed to me.”

“Thank you,” Regina mutters, though she wholeheartedly rejects his compliment. 

Her young adulthood made her angry, and mournful, but it didn’t make her a better person. It certainly didn’t contribute to her successes later in life. In fact, she considers those early years as the strongest provocation to stumble and act against her own moral code. 

“Why don’t you join me for a few drinks tonight?” Spencer suddenly offers. “My company’s a bit behind the times and I’ve been planning to hire a consultant to run all of our harassment seminars.”

“I’d really love to,” Regina replies. “But I have an early day tomorrow.” She’s also not sure that she can stand being in his presence any longer. 

“Go with him,” urges a soft voice in her ear. Emma states, “We don’t have anything so far. Hang in there if you can.”

“I suppose one drink wouldn’t hurt,” Regina rushes out, but Spencer stands up as if he means to leave anyway.

“Good,” Spencer barks jubilantly. “I’m meeting a few friends at a club. My car’s waiting outside.” 

Regina wishes she could still decline, especially because accepting his invitation now involves a change of scenery. She’s ill at ease as she follows him out into the street, and climbs into his limousine. 

It takes longer than she expects to arrive at the club, and she has no idea if Emma is trailing close behind them. Emma’s been silent, and she can’t very well speak to her while sitting next to Spencer—although she doubts he’d notice, since he’s so absorbed in bragging about his company. 

Regina nods along at the appropriate times, until the familiar street signs distract her. 

Out of all the clubs in this part of the Boston area, Spencer has managed to choose one where she’s certain to be recognized. 

The place is decorated in all black and white chic furniture, and the lounges are draped in more furs than a rich widower. Carla Deville owns this club and many of the stores in the area. 

Regina struts inside with her head held high, feeling confident until a strong whiff of gin greets her. She glances over at the bar, where Carla stares at her with hawkish interest. 

Spencer is right beside Regina, and beckons her over to an area with couches, though she’s not picking up on his cues. She’s too focused on Carla. There’s no way to avoid saying hello to her friend. She figures she’d better get it over with before they’re interrupted. 

“Well hello darling,” Carla smirks as she approaches. 

Much to Regina’s surprise, Mallory’s also close by, seated at the bar with a martini glass in hand. 

“It’s been a long time since you set foot here,” Carla muses, pursing her lips and arching both eyebrows, as if insulted. “Who’s your escort?”

Mallory’s less tactful with her inquiries. “What are you doing with a man your father’s age?” she demands, and Regina fixes her with a revolted look. 

Leave it to Mallory to always assume the worst. 

“Strictly talking business,” Regina hisses, with a great deal of restraint. Her gut twists over her friends’ impression of the situation. “Unfortunately he chose the venue. Do me a favor, and make yourselves scarce.”

“I called you earlier,” Mallory says, in a delicately reprimanding tone. “I also stopped by, but you weren’t home. I’ll be right over here, keeping an eye out.” 

Mallory quirks a brow at her, and follows Carla back to the bar. 

Regina catches them staring as Spencer helps her out of the coat she’s wearing. “Did you run into someone you know?” he frowns. “Here, have a seat. Make yourself comfortable.” 

In spite of the welcoming, dark leather lounges, Regina struggles to settle in, and ends up crossing her legs. 

Spencer orders the drinks without asking her preferences. Then he proceeds with his discussion of business. “You know my company almost went bankrupt a few years ago, but I managed to negotiate a merger with Midas. Now we’re one of the strongest hedge funds in Boston. When a man is at his lowest point, that is when he gets the chance to prove his self worth.”

“Midas?” Regina asks, on the verge of an epiphany. “Someone I used to work for had dealings with that company.”

“Yes, well, lucky man. Everything that Midas touches turns to gold,” Spencer snickers, and stares meaningfully at someone who has just entered the club. “Speaking of Gold—that’s the name of my lawyer. He introduced me to Midas.”

Spencer nods in the direction of the person he’s been gazing at, and Regina turns in time to see Mr. Gold in the flesh. He wears a disdainful frown, and a sharp suit with a pressed handkerchief in his breast pocket. 

Gold knows Carla, and Spencer’s here to see Gold. It should be as simple as that, but none of tonight’s events seem accidental. Regina feels like she’s staring at one of those pictures that require her to spot the out-of-place object, but she can’t quite pinpoint it. 

Is Gold somehow to blame for what happened to her? The thought has crossed her mind before. She refused to entertain it for long because she didn’t have any reason to think that, other than past experience. 

Why would he exploit her now, and how would he stand to benefit? In spite of how Gold treats her, he’s also been protective of her at times. 

“Regina,” Gold lilts, as if her mere presence frustrates him. “I had no idea you were acquainted with Mr. Spencer. I guess it’s true what they say: it is a small world, after all.” 

Regina is hardly listening to Gold. She’s instead thinking of all the ways to demand answers from him. Then she glimpses another unmistakable face from across the room. 

It’s James Spencer, and he’s walking towards them. 

Regina can scarcely breathe. Her limbs seize with panic. Bright pinpricks of color sail through her vision. 

“What’s gotten into you?” Gold asks in genuine confusion, and lays a hand on her shoulder. “Breathe, dearie.” 

She reflexively shakes him off, and swallows down her nausea. Her nostrils flare as she intakes air. All noises suddenly seem too loud, and her depth perception warped. 

“Is she okay?” James blinks, showing true concern as he arrives at their table. He signals a waiter. “Get her some water.”

Disoriented, she can only choke out, “Please,” and “I’m fine.” She should notify Emma immediately, but her fear subsides, and she decides to wait it out. 

James remains standing in front of her, and Regina searches his face for any sign of malice. 

“It turns out my son had a twin brother,” Albert soberly explains. “Did I mention my boy was adopted? The twins were separated at birth. It’s nice to finally meet you, David.” 

_David_ – not James – furrows his brow and sits down. 

“You are indeed identical to my son in every way,” Albert remarks, seeming wholly preoccupied by David’s features. “I regret not contacting you sooner, once I had learned of your existence.”

“I would have loved to meet James,” David breathes. He has a solemn, contemplative look about him. He’s not like James, after all—not in this moment. There’s nothing threatening about him, and when he steals a glance Regina’s way, it’s with kindness and regard for her well-being. 

Regina’s baffled by these people, who she assumes will turn against her at any second. She’s been on edge all evening, prepared for a fight that hasn’t come, and she’s getting angry with Emma. Shouldn’t the agent be checking in with her at regular intervals? 

“It’s the strangest thing,” David starts, but their waitress interrupts him. He takes a moment to look at the redhead. She plunks a glass of whiskey down on the table and he drinks. 

“Before my mother died, she never mentioned my brother,” David continues. “Finances were always very tight. I assume she couldn’t afford another mouth to feed, especially after my father left. But I just can’t believe she never told me about the adoption.”

“She didn’t want either you or your brother to know,” Mr. Gold interjects. “As long as you were both happy and healthy, that was all that mattered to her.”

Regina wonders if there’s more to Gold’s story.

Gold specializes in covering up scandals. He’s been involved in many adoptions over the years—mostly in cases of unwanted pregnancy after extramarital love affairs. He also has a talent for ensuring that his clients’ private matters remain private. In legal battles, he doesn’t analyze evidence; he simply buries it. But why would he help a destitute woman? 

“You must be very curious about your brother,” Regina intones. Her best poker face is firmly in place and she arches an eyebrow at David. 

David blinks and offers her a bland look. “I am.”

“He suffered,” Spencer pointedly states, and then stares down into his glass of whiskey. “Chiefly, he suffered from the thought that he was unloved. I didn’t know how to help him. Now he’s gone and beyond my help.”

Regina rises to her feet immediately. She’s not going to sit around and listen to anyone express pity over James Spencer. “It’s late,” she mutters. “I need to get home to my son. Thank you for the drinks.” 

“It was a pleasure seeing you again, Regina,” Spencer says, bidding her goodbye. 

Exchanging any further pleasantries is too hard; politely excusing herself is all Regina can muster. She wanders away from Spencer’s table, finds herself at the door and steps outside. For a while she just gasps until her lungs fill with cool night air, then she doubles over and leans against the side of the building. 

The redheaded waitress from earlier is standing close by; she takes a long drag on a cigarette and passes it over to Regina. 

“Rough night?” the redhead asks. 

Regina glares at the cigarette before accepting it. “Yeah,” she concedes. “Thanks.”

“Think nothing of it,” the redhead replies, but she’s staring at Regina expectantly. 

“You ever feel like you’re at a dead end?” Regina mutters, attempting to initiate a casual conversation that will mostly involve listening on her part. 

“All the time,” the redhead shrugs, then gazes directly at Regina again – unsettling her with inquisitive blue eyes. “Sometimes I’m overlooking the obvious, though – and all I’ve to do is recognize that.” 

Regina holds her ground, in spite of a mounting urge to go. She stamps out the cigarette, which has dwindled to nothing more than a nub. “Seems like good advice.”

“It would be good if I knew how to follow it,” the redhead hums, rolling her shoulders and glancing across the crowded parking lot. “It’s not easy in my line of work, that’s for sure. I tend to zone out, and when my mind is elsewhere, it’s not in the present moment.” 

Regina nods, and crosses her arms in an easy half-hug over her torso. She’s hardly paying attention to the waitress, but something is keeping her there, breathing in the clouds of smoke that still hang around her. 

“Watch yourself around Emma Swan,” the redhead mutters, with a leery squint of her right eye. She speaks so quickly and so quietly that Regina almost misses the bizarre warning. 

“What did you just say?” Regina rumbles, sounding gravelly and unnerved. 

The waitress doesn’t seem keen on repeating herself. “I warned you about Emma Swan,” she nevertheless explains, and presumptuously reaches out to touch Regina’s shoulder. “Be mindful of the authorities that appear to be protecting you. Not everyone can be trusted.” 

Regina furrows her brow in stubborn resistance. “Who are you,” she hisses. 

“You can call me Lena,” the redhead caressingly replies. “Take good care of yourself, Regina. ” She breezily strolls away, as if they shared nothing but a pleasant chat between them. 

Regina feels her temples throb, and she’s left clutching her head when Emma joins her. 

“Regina!” Emma’s pitch rises sharply, but Regina’s slow to react and meet the agent’s gaze. “Were you talking to yourself?”

There’s no one else around them, and Regina feels strangely disoriented and uncertain in the gathering darkness. She falters, stepping backwards and standing still until the world stops tilting. “No,” she asserts. “There was a woman—a waitress. She told me I shouldn’t trust you. Why would she say that?”

“What did she look like?” Emma asks, whipping her head around to search for the woman. 

“Tall, red-headed, blue eyes,” Regina rattles off automatically. In spite of their ups and downs, she does somehow trust Emma. She begrudgingly admits this to herself as Emma runs off to track down the strange redhead. 

Regina’s palms are sweating as she impulsively tugs her cell phone from her coat pocket. She rapidly dials, but her throat scrapes like sandpaper when she tries to speak. “Hello? Mother, it’s me,” she spits out, as she sags against the building, and throws her head back in resignation. 

“My darling,” Cora cordially replies, though her voice lifts ever so slightly and reveals her clear concern. “How are you?”

“Where’s Daddy?” Regina confrontationally squeaks. “Is he home? I want to speak to him.” Tonight she’s distraught enough that she’s broken a years’ long silence with her mother. It’s the biggest display of weakness, but right now she needs her father’s calm collectedness, and it’s worth the brief contact with Cora to get what she needs. “I want to see him.” 

“You know you’re always welcome here,” Cora quietly stresses. “I can have the guest house prepared for you if you’d like to come out to the Cape this weekend. You sound distraught, and it’s no wonder. I’ve done nothing but speak with investigators these last few days. Why don’t you ever turn to your family for help? Do you really hate me all that much?” 

Regina knows better than to answer her mother’s questions. She’s tempted to hang up, but her father’s voice stops her. “Regina,” he snuffles. “I’ve missed you. Please tell me what’s happened. I’ve called you and left messages. Are you back in Boston?” 

“Yes,” Regina sighs out in relief, as she brushes the wind-blown hair out of her face. “Yes, I’m back in Boston. I’ll come see you. It’s been too long.” It perplexes her that she never received a one of her father’s messages, but she believes him. There must be a problem with the answering machine. 

“Are you hurt?” Henry Sr. asks, and she can picture the way his bushy eyebrows cinch together in worry. 

“I’m fine, Daddy,” Regina lies halfheartedly, and for some reason her dishonesty fills her with unease. “I just—I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. It’s not as bad as I’m sure it sounds.” 

Cora has gone silent, though Regina senses her mother is still listening. 

“I can’t talk for long,” Regina coughs. Smoking makes her throat dry, and she can’t shake the feeling that she’s erred in confiding this much in her parents. “I’ll see you soon.” 

The surveillance van pulls up nearby, and Jones slides back the door for her. “We’ve got trouble,” he sighs. “Our superiors are not happy with Swan.”

Rob climbs out of the driver’s seat and walks into the bar without even glancing at Regina. She slips her cell phone into her pocket and settles into the back of the van to wait. 

It’s a much longer wait than she expects—long enough that she finds herself zoning out with her head against the window. 

Jones is hunched over the steering wheel when Emma flings open the van’s door. Rob gets into the passenger’s seat and slams the door behind him. 

“Got some footage of the waitress,” Emma neutrally reports. “But her employment paperwork is useless. She used a fake name, references and everything.” 

Rob’s face is beat red as though he’s been shouting, and he hunkers down as if he has no intentions of talking to anyone for the duration of the ride. 

Emma appears unaffected, but she’s dutifully ignoring her colleagues and her lips are pressed together in an uncharacteristically stern way. “We have our work cut out for us,” she comments. “Albert Spencer is still a person of interest. So is your ex-boss, Mr. Gold. And the waitress who came out of nowhere to warn you about your security team--” 

“Just you,” Regina quietly corrects, and then stares down at her lap. “Well, mainly you.”

“If I was a threat, I think you’d already know about it,” Emma snorts. “Still, the waitress introduces a new complication—another layer in this impossible case. She’s obviously not on our side, but she can’t be ORACLE, either. It’s a priority to track her down.”

“My only priority right now is to get back to my son,” Regina says, fiddling with her wristwatch. “It’s late.”

“We’re nearly there,” Jones assures her, and a few minutes later they arrive at a gated community of condominiums. 

Gioseppo and Tillman are still on duty, and grant them access to the building where she and Henry will stay overnight. The condo is spartan, with two bedrooms and one bathroom. It’s a far cry from the comfort of home, but Regina makes no hesitation over kicking off her heels and falling into the same bed where Marian and Henry are already sleeping. 

Regina will never be able to thank Marian enough for the sacrifices she’s made to watch over Henry, in spite of the menacing unknowns and the hectic, long days. At least Henry is sleeping peacefully. 

Marian stirs, senses Regina’s bodily warmth and affectionately brushes her fingertips over her friend’s arm. “You okay?” she whispers.

“I don’t know what I am,” Regina admits, without constraining the upset laugh that rises from her chest. “Confused, more than anything. How about you?”

“I’ve decided to take some more precautions,” Marian mutters. “I moved the women from the Dorchester shelter to our other facilities. I put Belle in charge temporarily. It just seemed like the best thing to do, since you need me here. We’ll get through this mess, and then we’ll worry about getting back to work.”

“Regina?” Emma calls out softly. Her shadowy form is framed in the bright doorway. She doesn’t tread into the room to get Regina’s attention, but she’s fidgeting impatiently. 

Regina squeezes Marian’s hand, then slides out of bed and goes out into the hall. She shuts the door behind her to avoid rousing Henry. “What is it?” she asks. 

Barefoot, Regina is much shorter than Emma in boots, and they stand sizing each other up for a moment. In the small space, Emma’s heat and energy radiates palpably, and they’re both hyper aware of their proximity. 

“I know tonight didn’t exactly go as we thought it would,” Emma deflates, scrunching up her nose. “But at least everything went okay with Albert Spencer?”

“I’m not sure I’d say that. He’s not the most pleasant company,” Regina huffs, and yet out of all of her parents’ intolerable friends, she prefers the gruff businessman. “Then again, most men of his age and social standing aren’t pleasant to be around.” 

“Yeah.” Emma produces a handful of pictures from a plastic sleeve and holds them out to Regina. “Speaking of old, rich guys, do you recognize any of these people?”

Regina takes the stack of pictures and flips through them, unable to identify the majority of people who are posed, smiling and camera-ready. She continues until she comes to an image of someone who in appearances only is a distinguished, aging gentleman. He’s warmly offering his arm to a young brunette with fair skin. The girl seems charmed by him—happy to be alive and in his company. 

Without batting an eyelash, Regina nonchalantly tucks the picture behind the first in the stack, and returns the whole set to Emma. “A few of them look familiar, but I don’t remember any of their names.” 

It’s a believable lie, and one that she tells without giving a single indication that it’s a falsehood. 

“I lifted these from Spencer’s office earlier when he was having dinner with you,” Emma explains. Now it’s clear why Emma didn’t check in with Regina more often—she must have been skulking around. 

Emma is still fixated on the photos, with a deep furrow of curiosity in her brow. “I’ve seen this guy before. He was a senator, right?” Her thumb catches on the last photo, and she tugs it back out of the pile. “I can’t believe I’m blanking on his name.”

Regina’s stomach sinks, and she swallows the sour taste that rises into her mouth. “White,” she murmurs with conviction. “Former Senator Leopold White.” 

It’s an old photo, but she hasn’t seen him in so long that she’d likely have more trouble recognizing him if the snapshot happened to be newer, or if she met him on the streets. The girl who stands beside him is his daughter Mary Margaret, and even though years have passed, the sight of the girl’s self-satisfied face still vexes Regina. 

“He’s in a lot of Spencer’s photos,” Emma says softly. “Of course they were all in frames, so I didn’t steal them. But it’s always this guy, Gold, and Andrew Midas.” She takes another photo from the stack, where Spencer has his arm around a man with golden brown curly hair—his well-known business partner, Andrew Midas. 

Regina arches a brow, and sucks at the inside of her cheek. “So what?” she asks. “What are you going to do now? Question Midas and White? They’re not the types of men who get involved with illegal activities—not on this scale.” She never thought she’d see the day when she’d be arguing over the innocence of these pompous, self-righteous men. “They both have squeaky clean reputations.” 

But is she just afraid to put any blame on Leopold White? 

If it turns out that he is at all responsible, Regina doubts she can handle leveling accusations against him. 

She’s been down that road before, and she remembers how easily she loses touch with reality when she’s in the presence of the White family; she begins to question her own perceptions and sanity.

As an adult with all of her training, she should be capable of looking at the man in the picture and feeling nothing but deep loathing. His benign smile doesn’t confuse her anymore, or make her question whether she’s the crazy one. She long ago stopped believing she ever had a choice. But the longer she stares at his picture, the more potent her memories become, and all she can hear is his gentle whisper. It’s like he’s right there beside her. 

_“Regina,” he’d said, pretending to be passive, and blinking his docile, dull eyes as he’d patiently made allowances for himself. “You mustn’t get upset. I only wish to give you my patronage – and show you my affections. I have plenty of money for your tuition if you require it. I know mother isn’t going to pay for an impractical art school, but if it’s your heart’s true desire, then you shall certainly have it._ Anything you ask of me -- _it’s yours, but I have to ask you to please be kind to me in return. You are a beautiful young woman. You’re quite grown up now.” He had coaxed her legs open, and placed a hand on her knee. “Let me see you, darling. Now, don’t be afraid. You’re old enough for a man to take an interest in you.”_

Her skin prickles at the evoked sensation of his lips against her ear, and his fingers tangling in the folds of her dress. She holds her breath and can barely hear Emma speaking. 

“All I can do is continue looking into people who have been in your life, and in the lives of the perpetrators.” Emma frowns; she keeps clenching her knuckles until she impulsively places her hand on Regina’s forearm. “I have to go to the office now. Rob tattled on me earlier for doing that quick sweep of Spencer’s office. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” She pats her pants pocket and finds a pen. “No paper. Mind if I write my number on your hand?”

Regina feels a bit weightless, empty and numb. Reminiscing has that effect on her lately. Even her face is numb, unable to form any expression where expressiveness can always be found in abundance. 

She extends her hand instantly, struck by how peculiar her situation with Emma has been; how has she ever learned to put any trust at all in a woman whose phone number isn’t even programmed into her own phone?

Emma’s pen marks tickle across her palm. 

“I should have given you my cell number a few days ago, but I sort of figured that I would be the last person you’d call if you needed anything,” Emma confesses. “I hope that isn’t the case anymore.”

“The last time someone wrote a note on my hand, I was in the third grade,” Regina remarks, by way of deflecting, and also for other reasons. Emma has brought her mind into a safer place. “I’ll call you.” She rolls her eyes, even as Emma nods and smiles faintly before strolling away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. Hopefully this chapter didn't seem overloaded with information, and came off as realistic in regards to the crime element?
> 
> Also, wanted to say that this chapter lays the groundwork for everything I'll be exploring in respect to Regina's past...


	7. Chapter 7

Emma jogs out to her car and turns on the radio for the ride back to headquarters. It’s nearing eleven o’clock, but the building is still humming with activity when she enters, goes through the security checkpoints, and up to her boss’ office. 

Lance hunches at his desk, which is completely covered in papers. He’s rubbing the top of his head, and he has the phone tucked against his neck. “Swan’s here,” he tells someone. “I’ll call you back.” 

Emma knows this can’t be good if Lance is willing to end his call, and prepares herself to come off as apologetic. “What’s up?” she asks, sinking low in the bucket seat across from him. 

“I need you to take a break,” Lance breathes out, collecting the mess on his desk and organizing it more neatly. “You’ve got three weeks vacation starting tomorrow. I’ve given you too many chances, Swan. You keep going off course, and the fact of the matter is we’re going to table this whole investigation for now. Jefferson’s proved to be completely unreliable. He’s started talking about new age gods, and conspiracy theories. All of our best psychologists have evaluated him. He’s a nutcase. We’ve concluded that there is no weapon, and the best way to handle this is to lock him up until more information presents itself. We can’t even assume that Spencer and his lackeys are apart of ORACLE anymore, in spite of what we found in that warehouse. It’s possible their whole operation was just another smokescreen--”

Emma’s well versed in when it’s beneficial to keep quiet, or voice her opinion—yet the more Lance talks, the more she realizes there won’t be a good time to speak up. “Who’s suddenly pulling the plug on this?” she hoarsely demands. “Why do it now, after all of that talk? I bet it’s Big Blue. Isn’t it? She just can’t stand to have any unfinished business. She covers her ass every time, and makes it look like we’ve saved the day when we haven’t done anything at all--”

“Don’t get upset about this,” Lance warns, and abruptly stands up to pace. He crosses his arms behind his back and begins a slow march across the office floor. “The truth is we dropped the trail on ORACLE long ago. We don’t even know if they’re a domestic or foreign network. They’ve thrown up a million smoke screens, and given us false leads. We’re not effective, because we can’t even identify the key players in their game. Meanwhile, we’re just exhausting our valuable resources, and for what?” 

“You swore to me we weren’t going to give up!” Emma vehemently argues. “When I got back, after everything I’d been through—after all of the shitty debriefing, and other ridiculous hoops you threw my way, you consoled me with the promise that we’d do whatever was necessary.” She’s winded from all of the yelling, and she knocks all of the papers from Lance’s desk, just because he’ll have to clean it all up again. He won’t be able to simply file it away and forget all of their records on ORACLE. Her pride hurts-- she’s practically vibrating with all of her anger. 

“We’re going to allocate a small team to handle the remaining work,” Lance states, in a controlled voice, even as papers fall around him. “We plan to continue providing support to Ms. Mills and her son, but as far as I’m concerned, we’ve found the wrongdoers we were looking for: Jefferson will be tried as a terrorist. As for the other guilty parties—they have already received their punishment, and we’ll continue to search for the one responsible for meting it out.” 

Emma can only shake her head. This is a complete turn-around that she should have seen coming, but she’s still squashed by it. “You’ll change your mind when something else happens,” she mutters. “I’ll be waiting on that phone call.” She gets up, and exits without the courtesy of saying goodbye. 

As she’s halfway to the elevator banks, she detours and pops her head into Eugenia’s office. There are balloons floating on the ceiling and a huge vase of sunflowers on the analyst’s desk. “Ready for retirement?” Emma softly asks. 

“Not quite!” Eugenia replies from behind her computer. Her glasses are still perched on the bridge of her nose, but she lets them drop from her face and dangle by a chain as she scoots her chair around to look at Emma. “I was planning to go home and watch the UFC match, but there’s five days until I’m officially done here, and I wouldn’t bail on you a minute sooner.” She tosses a giant folder down in front of her and pushes it over to Emma. “Some of these are medical histories, as I first suspected. I had to bring in a few consultants to work them out, but we’ve begun to understand them. Just in time, too. I’ve been told we’re no longer prioritizing ORACLE—or whatever they’re calling it now.” 

Emma plops down on the huge yellow beanbag chair in the corner of Eugenia’s office to read the files. The beanbag is the only spot in the whole building where Emma’s ever been completely comfortable. She’s never taken a seat in a normal desk chair in Eugenia’s office, and she half suspects that the older woman put the beanbag chair there just for her. 

“Let me give you a summary,” Eugenia offers, angling her seat so she can peer down at the files in Emma’s lap. “What you’re looking at is a bunch of genetic records. But they’re coded in an unusual way. In the first grouping, there are five sets of documents, which correspond to five family groups. My best guess is that the purpose of collecting these records was to note subtle changes in genetic lines across many generations. There’s also a case of drives, containing a whopping petabyte of information. We have no easy way of sorting through it. We would need a database, or a program to make sense of it all.” 

“Would anyone miss this stuff if I took it with me?” Emma mutters, distracted by the analyst’s added notations. 

“Oh, I suppose eventually,” Eugenia deliberates, and puts her glasses back on, probably to make sure Emma knows she means business. “But as far as anyone knows, they’re in my possession. As long as you come to my retirement party, you can return them to me then--” 

“I guess you’re holding me to my promise then, huh?” It’s a done deal, as far as Emma’s concerned. She’s already shoving the folder into her jeans, and zippering up her jacket so no one can tell she’s leaving with it.

“For once, I am, yes,” Eugenia readily concedes. “And you have to bring that lady friend of yours. Ruby told me she’s a real looker.” 

“Oh, hey, Regina’s not really my girlfriend,” Emma shyly admits. “She was just pretending. I can’t ask her to come to your party. She’s—she’s Regina Mills, the woman… who’s under our protection.”

“Ask her to come anyway,” Eugenia insists, though her face falls, and she’s less enthusiastic than before. “She can always say no, but it might be a welcome diversion.”

Inviting Regina to a retirement party wouldn’t be perceived the same way as asking her out on a date, would it?

“Yeah,” Emma says noncommittally, with no intention of even mentioning the party to Regina. “We’ll see what happens. She’s a busy lady, plus she’s got a kid. I’m not even sure if she can arrange a sitter.” 

It’s easy to find excuses, and Emma doesn’t state the obvious one: there is a sensitive and floundering part of Regina behind the hardened exterior, and she doesn’t want to put the woman in a vulnerable position if it’s not strictly necessary. Some of the party attendees will only know of Regina through the documentation of events that occurred, and they’re the same judgmental people who looked at Emma differently after returning from her time in isolation. 

Emma hates socializing with them, but they’re her colleagues and it would be rude of Eugenia to leave anyone out. 

Eugenia shuts down her computer, and gathers up her coat and purse. “It’s late and we should both get out of here,” she decides, gesturing with both hands for Emma to take the lead. 

Emma wanders out to the elevator banks, and Eugenia follows her. They’re both silent until they hit the ground floor, and then Eugenia says in parting—“I think of you as family, Emma, and I’d like to see you happy. After next week, you’ll have to come visit me at home and let me know what’s going on in your life. I’ll move that old beat up beanbag chair into my living room if I have to. I know how much you like it.” 

Eugenia winks at Emma, and walks to her old station wagon. The wagon should be scrapped for its metal, and Eugenia can more than afford a newer model, but there are peeling stickers on the leather interior from Ruby’s childhood, and other artifacts that make the car priceless to the aging woman.

“I’ll visit,” Emma confirms. She fleetingly thinks that maybe she’ll even practice being a little less reckless, so that she doesn’t disappoint Eugenia. 

Eugenia waves, hops into her station wagon, and then Emma’s left in the parking lot by herself. Going home would be the smart thing to do, so she can get a fresh start in the morning. She’s about to do just that, but then her phone rings. 

\--

“It’s me,” Regina breathlessly announces. “I’ve been invited for a tête-à-tête with Mr. Gold.”

“Tonight?” Emma balks. 

It’s already midnight, and based on Regina’s whispering, Emma assumes that everyone else is asleep. 

“I want to meet with him,” Regina asserts, and that’s the deciding factor for Emma. 

“Give me like twenty minutes,” Emma replies, though she makes it back to the safe house in ten. 

She turns off her headlights as she approaches with the idea that she’s going to have to find some way of stealthily extracting Regina, but to her surprise, Regina comes running out to her car. 

“What, did you sneak out again?” Emma cringes.

There are alarms and security cameras, and Emma can’t believe her incompetent fellow agents have let Regina run off for a second time without taking note. 

“I convinced Jones to let me out,” Regina indifferently explains, as she buckles up her seatbelt. “He wants me to tell you that in the event we get into any trouble, we’re to take full responsibility and clear his ‘good’ name. He actually put it in a much cruder way, but I’ll spare you the details.” 

“Yeah,” Emma snorts. “Fidelity, Bravery and Integrity, my ass. He lives by a different motto. At least you didn’t have to bribe him.”

“Bribes aren’t necessary when you have blackmail,” Regina informs her, with a wry smirk as she glances sideways through the window. “I’ll just say that Mr. Jones vigorously exercises his good hand in his free time on the job--” 

“Gross,” Emma groans. “Time to change the subject. Where are we headed?” 

“To Gold’s penthouse,” Regina states. “I assume you have the address?”

Emma does have it from when she briefly interviewed Gold. His top floor apartment contains all types of antiques and oddities, and he gave her a full tour during her visit. 

“I’m still kind of surprised that you called me,” Emma mentions. She’s secretly heartened by Regina’s choice to include her, but she keeps that to herself. 

“Gold requested it,” Regina softly discloses--as if she’s caught onto how Emma’s viewing the phone call. 

Emma sinks down in her seat and grips her wheel a little tighter. She’s suddenly embarrassed, and wonders if she’s presumed too much. 

“What do you think he wants?” Emma mutters. 

Gold is a powerful lawyer, so Emma anticipates that whatever he divulges will be a carefully-worded partial truth. If he’s forthcoming with any valuable information, it’ll be worth the late night trip. 

“I’m not sure, but I want to ask him some questions,” Regina gravely intones. “From having worked with him, I can tell you that his information won’t come cheap.” 

Emma finds a parking spot underneath a blinking street lamp and slouches back in her seat. “We can figure out some kind of trade,” she suggests. 

Regina takes a deep breath and gradually exhales as she nods. “Let’s go.”

The doorman has instructions to escort them in, and they take the elevator up to the top floor. Decorative vases with velvety, red roses sit on either side of Gold’s foyer. Emma shuffles inside and wipes her boots, while Regina seems to hang back. 

Gold comes to the door in his burgundy smoking jacket, and gives each woman a cursory glance before withdrawing into his parlor. He holds a tumbler of whiskey, and the wet bar in the corner draws his attention first, before he even fully acknowledges his guests. After doling cubes of ice into his drink, he settles down in an armchair and peers up at Regina and Emma. 

“Well, have a seat,” he impatiently commands, and it’s clear that they should have figured that much out on their own. 

Emma perches at the edge of the sofa, though her posture is stiff. Even though their conversation hasn’t yet begun, she’s ready to get the hell out of there. 

She’s not in the mood for anyone’s mind games, and she detects the same tension in Regina. 

“I don’t want to sit down,” Regina sneers, with her arms crossed and a no-nonsense gleam in her eye. 

“Suit yourself,” Gold sniffs, and sips his whiskey without batting an eyelash over Regina’s behavior. “One of my clients has just bequeathed you an item of great worth, and requested that I make the transference of said item tonight. That is my first matter of business. The second is Ms. Swan’s investigation. I may have a tip for you -- though where that tip leads, there’s no telling. As you know, I’ve been handling James Spencer’s remaining affairs, and it turns out he owned a fair bit of property under a false name.”

He presents Emma with the list of the properties, and then passes a large jewelry box to Regina. 

Emma skims the list of addresses, but she’s more interested in the box in Regina’s hands. 

It’s a generic packaging, but the necklace that Regina removes from its confines is far from ordinary. The string of diamonds catches the warm light in the room. Each gem casts glorious rainbow prisms all around it. 

“Might I recommend you find a safe place for that,” Gold murmurs. 

“Why would anyone give this to me?” Regina asks in confusion, and lowers the gift back into the box. “Furthermore, why would you think this is such a pressing issue that you called me out in the middle of the night?”

“I don’t question my clients’ wishes, not when they are paying me handsomely for my time,” Gold rationalizes. 

Emma scrutinizes him, and concludes that they owe him nothing for this meeting, because he’s already profited in some extortionate way. He’s only fulfilling his end of the bargain with his client by delivering this necklace to Regina, and he hasn’t even left his apartment to do it. 

“I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me the name of my kind benefactor,” Regina sedately remarks. 

“My contractual obligations prevent me from discussing it,” Gold states, and straightens the lapel on his jacket. 

Emma hunches forward in her seat. She folds the list until it’s small enough to stuff into her pocket. “It’s pretty obvious you know some influential people,” she tactfully begins, “And your knowledge of what’s going on might be as limited as you’ve attested, but I don’t think much gets past you. If any of this is just a distraction, I’ll be back. And not under the auspices of the law, but just as a person. A person who’s pretty damn tired and fed up.”

It’s a blatant threat, and inwardly she’s not as strung out as she claims—though she’s sure she looks frazzled and prepared to take matters into her own hands. 

Regina opens her mouth in what might be shock, or excitement. Then her lip twists in a perceptibly satisfied way. “Ms. Swan, shall we?” she raspingly croons, and spins to go. 

Gold has no parting words for them, nor does he respond to Emma’s warning. It’s looking like their meeting is already over. 

Even if this isn’t a victory, it still feels like one—probably because of the new glimmer of liveliness that lights up Regina’s whole face. 

Emma hastens after Regina and they get onto the elevator. She has no clue why Regina’s staring at her, but she handles the situation by shaking herself, and then gazing at her feet. 

It’s been a while since she’s had a one night stand, but this is the type of buzzing energy she feels from a woman when she’s about to get laid. 

“You okay?” Emma coughs, for lack of anything better to say in her discomposure. 

She can’t halt her mind from mentally rehearsing what she’d do if Regina ever came onto her.

It could never be the other way around, Emma’s decided, and therefore she’s secure in the idea that it won’t happen. She’s not going to put the moves on Regina—first of all, because that would be beyond sleazy, and secondly, because she wouldn’t want to jeopardize the partnership, given their brief and rocky history. 

With her thighs clenched so tight that she can hardly walk, Emma makes it back to the car. She risks looking at Regina against her better judgment. It’s impossible to rid herself of inappropriate thoughts, and she’s not certain why. She bets it’s related to too many sleepless nights and decades of loneliness. 

“I should ask you the same question,” Regina muses. “Do you feel alright? Your face is flushed.” 

Embarrassment just makes the problem worse, and Emma squeaks out, “Fine—feeling fine.” She instantly sobers up. 

“I appreciate how determined you are,” Regina intones. “In many ways, you’ve surprised me.”

Emma takes the unexpected compliments in stride, even though she secretly enjoys the ego stroking. “I’d tell you that I’m just doing my job, but it’s personal,” she admits. “And not just because I need to make things right, and compensate for my past screw-ups…”

It would be too much to say aloud that she also wants to protect Regina, but she’s heavily implied it. 

Regina’s eyes narrow pensively and she smiles—more from the eyes, than anything. “Thank you,” she says, sincerely.

\---  
Emma’s first “day off” consists of picking up coffee at a 24-hour mini-mart, returning to her apartment, and using Google maps to check out all of the addresses on Gold’s list. She sends a few texts to Regina, but the replies stop coming around two o’clock in the morning, and then Emma passes out on her couch. Her alarm doesn’t go off, and she oversleeps until noon. She would sleep even longer, but she wakes up when she begins to drool on herself. 

As Emma uses her t-shirt to wipe the cold, wet saliva from her chin, she realizes it’s at least midday because of how the sun slants through her window. She stands up and sways, reaching for her cell phone. No new texts, or messages. 

Before showering, she goes into the kitchen and peeks into the nearly empty fridge. There’s a container of Chinese take-out noodles that have shriveled and hardened, two packets of ketchup and a bottle of orange juice. She grabs the juice and drinks it on the way to the bathroom. 

In the middle of washing her hair, she hears the phone vibrate and tries to read the message without getting out of the shower. Soap stings her eyes as she glances down at the screen, and at Regina’s brief note: _Rob believes you could face real disciplinary action if you continue to disobey orders. Why didn’t you tell me you were penalized?_

 _Penalized? I thought I was on vacation_ , Emma writes. _Why are you talking to that jackass anyway?_

She’s able to finish getting the suds out of her curls, and towel herself dry before another text from Regina comes through: _He’s been assigned to us, until we can resume our normal lives._

Even if Rob has no choice in the matter, Emma can’t help but glower about that. 

Over the years, he’s changed from someone flexible, to a person whose strict adherence to the rules prevents her from liking him. 

What bothers her the most is that now she won’t be able to use Regina as a resource. 

If Rob believes Emma’s job is in jeopardy, he’ll prevent her from getting anywhere close to Regina. He’s as stupid as he is protective. 

Emma composes a quick text on the way out the door: _Sorry about that. Call me later when he’s not around._

She jumps into her car, and spends the next several hours driving around the Boston area to visit James Spencer’s properties. The first of the nine happens to be an abandoned cannery, and there’s nothing of interest there. The others are mostly storefronts for rent without any tenants – closed-up shops that have outdated, sun-bleached signs and spray-paint all over their boarded windows. 

One of the addresses leads to an undeveloped patch of land in Portsmouth, New Hampshire, and there are two vacant residences—one in Burlington, Vermont and another in Camden, Maine. She’ll have to take another road trip if she plans to search these last few places, but it’s not something she can accomplish in one afternoon. 

The next several days go by in a whirlwind of travel. Her exploration of the properties is rewarded when she locates an underground cellar on the Portsmouth land. 

At first glance, the place seems to be a storage spot for an impressive collection of fine wine. She wastes hours wandering around the dusty basement, and sampling the lot of them. That’s how she notices the strange, barely-there markings in the glass, and notations behind the labels. As she drains the last of a bottle, she comes to a further realization—that there’s a false bottom within the glass itself, where more liquid has been contained. It’s not wine. 

It would be too much work to completely clear out the storeroom, but Emma carries as many bottles as she can and loads them into her car. 

She’ll have the liquids tested in the lab when she returns to work. For now, she just hopes that she doesn’t get pulled over by any state police, who might question why she has a liquor store in her trunk. 

It’s a long ride to the other property locations. The homes in Camden and Burlington turn out to be mansions, with furniture draped over by dust tarps, and spacious yards with wild, untended gardens. 

Emma camps out in the Camden house over night instead of paying for a hotel, and drives back to Boston on the following morning. 

There’s little point in communicating with Regina while Rob is acting as her personal watchdog. If not for him, Emma might have called Regina – but there’s always a chance that the woman will ask about her whereabouts, and Emma would rather not have to lie. 

Among other things, she still needs to figure out the identity of the waitress who spoke to Regina, and interview former Senator Leopold White and his daughter Mary Margaret. 

Emma’s first order of business as soon as she’s back in Boston is to track down Mary Margaret White. 

It’s not difficult. Mary Margaret is one of the doctors at the children’s hospital for cancer and blood disorders, and Emma has no trouble looking the woman up in their online database. There’s an email address listed, but sending an email would create a paper trail, and Emma wants to avoid doing that until after her suspension officially ends. 

Rather than risk generating any proof of her disobedience, Emma goes to the hospital in person. 

As she waits in line at reception, she determines which receptionist to approach. There’s four on duty, and all of them chat with each other while filing records and directing people to different departments. 

The quietest of the bunch is Rhonda—a woman with frizzy, dyed red hair. 

Emma chooses Rhonda. She clutches her badge as inconspicuously as possible while still allowing the receptionist to see it. “I’m conducting an investigation,” she states. “Will you please page Dr. White for me, or just show me to her office? If she’s with a patient, I’ll gladly wait.” 

Rhonda gapes at her, and then hops up from her seat. “Oh—yes,” she agrees. “Come right this way. I’ll escort you.” She’s a friendly, helpful woman who rides the elevator with Emma all the way up to the eighth floor. “Dr. White’s office is in the north wing,” she gestures, but goes the extra few steps and talks to the other staff on Emma’s behalf. 

Rhonda knocks on Dr. White’s door, and not finding her in, hurries off to speak with an administrator on the floor. Shortly thereafter, Rhonda returns to Emma with a report: “Dr. White will be taking a break in a half hour and she’ll be back in her office. Would you like me to wait with you?”

“If it’s okay, I’ll just take a seat in the waiting area over there and hang out until she comes back,” Emma replies. “You don’t have to keep me company, but I appreciate the offer.” 

“Okay,” Rhonda says, and lingers for an instant longer, like a doting mother. “Good luck with your investigation.” 

Emma thanks her, and then slumps down in a chair in the empty waiting room. She finds some magazines, but they’re mostly for kids and parents. 

Dr. White must decide not to take her break right away, because she doesn’t show up until three hours later. 

By that time, Emma’s desperate enough to read one of the parenting magazines. She’s just about to skim through an article about supporting kids’ creativity when Dr. White appears. 

Emma drops the magazine, instantly recognizing Dr. White from the picture on the hospital’s website and the older pictures from Albert Spencer’s office. The woman’s short dark hair and mild features are unmistakable. 

“Dr. White?” Emma perks up. “Dr. Mary Margaret White…” She pushes herself up from her cramped position, and presents her badge. “Special Agent Swan, Counterterrorism Division.” 

This is the part of her job she hates—interviewing civilians who might become informants. 

These interactions are almost always full of tension for the interviewee, and Emma feels awkward when she uses her badge to initiate a conversation. 

Dr. White holds an armload of paperwork and a tablet, which she nearly drops. “Oh!” she says, startled, then fumbles to open her office door. “Are you here to speak with me? Come in.”

Emma steps into the office and gazes around at the organized disarray—the stacks of forms, and the usual knickknacks that doctors often collect from drug companies. 

“Yeah, I’m here to ask you about your acquaintance with Mr. James Spencer, son of entrepreneur, Albert Spencer,” Emma proceeds. “How long has it been since you’ve seen or spoken to either party?”

Dr. White trips around her desk, and begins rummaging in a paper lunch bag. She pulls out a sandwich, apple, and an oatmeal raisin granola bar. “I’m sorry!” she breathes. “You don’t mind if I eat while we talk, do you? I’ve been here for the last twelve hours and I’m starving.” 

“Go right ahead.” Emma softens as she watches the woman wolf down half of the sandwich. 

“Would you like my apple?” Dr. White kindly offers. 

“I had a big breakfast, but thanks,” Emma lies. 

She’s eaten some stale froot loops she found in the back of her cabinet, a stick of gum, and an extra large coffee she grabbed from a convenience store. 

Dr. White smiles at her, and takes the liberty of cutting the apple into slices anyway, so they can share. “It’s been years since I’ve seen Albert Spencer, and even longer since I’ve seen his son,” she finally explains, after swallowing a piece of the apple. “Albert Spencer is a friend of my father’s. They attended the same prep school as boys. I think the last time I saw Mr. Spencer was at one of my father’s parties, over ten years ago. I hope he’s alright.”

“He is,” Emma mutters thoughtfully. “He’s okay, but his son recently passed away. There are some strange circumstances surrounding the death.” 

“I didn’t know his son well, but I’m still sorry to hear of his passing.” Dr. White frowns. “I suppose that’s why you’re here?”

“Part of the reason,” Emma admits. She sits for a moment, and studies Dr. White, whose walls are covered in accolades and diplomas. Not only does the woman appear harmless, but she’s also dedicating her life to improving the situation of many sick kids.

Emma wonders why Regina responded so negatively to the photo of Mary Margaret and her father. 

“What about Regina Mills?” Emma asks. “Is that name familiar to you?” 

Dr. White tenses, and gentle creases form on her forehead. “Regina,” she mutters. “Yes, I know her. She’s…actually the reason I’m still here today. I was very sick as a child, and she saved me.” She catches Emma eye and hurries to clarify. “Oh—it was nothing serious, not like my patients cope with on a daily basis. It happened all in one night. I had a high temperature and began to hallucinate. Somehow I ended up outside, and fell into our swimming pool. It was after one of my father’s parties. Fortunately Regina was still there after everyone left for the night. She heard me splashing, and came to rescue me. Has something happened to her?”

Emma reflexively tightens the muscles in her jaw. “Regina is doing fine,” she quietly replies, by way of sidestepping the question. “It seems like it’s been a while since you’ve been in touch with her, but I want you to think really hard: is it possible that any of your mutual contacts or friends would be holding a grudge against her? 

“Regina did have her fair share of enemies,” Dr. White mutters, and then her face brightens up as if she has a thought. She retrieves some photos from her desk drawer and spreads them out on the desk. In all of the photos, Mary Margaret and her father are standing side by side on the front lawn of an impressive mansion. 

“From May until the end of August, my father and I lived in our Cape Cod summer home,” Dr. White reminisces. “Regina’s house was just up the street from mine. I remember Regina’s mother being very frustrated with her, and in just one summer, everything changed. Regina went from being a kindhearted person, to someone who humiliated and bullied everyone. After that, it seemed like the community was dead set against her. My father tried to help set her on a better path, but unfortunately she couldn’t be helped. Mrs. Mills sent her away for a while, and then Regina must have gone straight onto college after that. I felt sorry for her.” 

Emma has no idea what to do with this information. She expected a simpler response, which would point back to Albert Spencer, or another member of their shared social circle. Interviewing everyone who ever lived in that small private community would require more resources and time. 

“I know your father is probably a busy man, but it would help if I could speak to him, too,” Emma concludes. “He might be able to provide some further insights.” 

The main reason she’s interviewing Mary Margaret first is because setting up an appointment with a former senator will be difficult without alerting anyone else in her division. 

“Our plan is to keep this investigation as discreet as possible, so the press don’t get involved,” Emma sternly explains. “I’ll take you both to dinner.” She jots her phone number on the memo pad on Dr. White’s desk, helps herself to one of the doctor’s business cards, and then stands up. “Feel free to give me a call once you’ve spoken with your father, or I’ll reach out tomorrow, and we can figure out a day and time that works for all of us.” 

“Okay,” Dr. White replies, and Emma can tell that this woman is just one of those do-gooder people who actually takes joy in helping anyone she can. “It was nice meeting you.”

“Uh--nice to meet you, too.” Emma shakes Dr. White’s hand, and then leaves the office. 

This could backfire on Emma if the senator refuses the quiet meeting and decides to question her story. But she thinks the gain is worth the risk, and how bad can it be, especially if Dr. White’s involved?


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m putting a warning on this chapter for a number of reasons. The first is that Regina has some flashbacks, which aren’t graphic, but are still upsetting and briefly depict what happened to her. The second is that Regina attempts to cope with what happened to her in a way that is unhealthy. Everyone deals with their trauma differently, and I’ve always felt that rather than abstain entirely from sex, Regina is the type to seek problematic sexual engagements with others. Regina's behavior is somewhat like the Evil Queen's in this chapter, but everything that occurs is consensual. 
> 
> That said, I’ve decided to add some additional notes at the end that briefly explain the plot of the chapter, in case you want to check that out before reading, or if you want to consider whether or not to read. I don’t want to leave a detailed summary of what occurs in this header, but I’m erring on the side of caution, because I don’t want anyone to have a negative reaction to this. It is possible to just read the summary below and skip this chapter altogether.
> 
> If you happen to read and you have negative feedback, please don't hesitate to share it.

Regina spends the week at home playing board games with Henry—but there’s only so much monopoly and chess that she can take, especially when they have a constant audience. 

Marian and Rob hang out on her couch, exchanging stories about their jobs and trying to avoid uncomfortable silences. Occasionally Marian goes into Regina’s study to work, and then Regina has no choice but to entertain Henry and Rob. 

Henry understands her moods better, and happily resorts to reading his comic books. Rob, on the other hand, talks incessantly—about the weather, his preferred hunting gear, current events, and any passing thought that comes to his mind. 

Today’s topic is his love life, and Regina’s mentally checked out. He’s blathering on about women and marriage. 

Her chin rests in the palm of her hand in a clear show of boredom. Nothing about her body language could possibly be persuading him that she’s interested—that is, until he says something that immediately grabs her attention. 

“Emma—now, she’s someone I’ve always admired,” he grins. “But just as a friend.”

Regina posture improves remarkably and she glares at him until he finishes his sentence. “I can see why you would find her attractive,” she admits, although she’s not encouraging him in any way. 

Rob obviously regards Emma as off-limits. He acts like an older brother whenever he’s around Emma, but the mere discussion arouses a jealousy in Regina that’s blindsiding. 

“Yes, but Emma prefers the fairer sex, if she prefers anyone at all,” Rob casually discloses. He slings his arm over the back of the couch. 

“We shouldn’t be discussing her like this,” Regina husks darkly. “And you should be careful what you tell other people about her private life.” 

“She’s not secretive when it comes to her sexual identity,” Rob insists. “Though I haven’t seen her with anyone in years. Her work has completely taken over her life.” He drags his fingers through a small candy dish on the coffee table and scoops up a handful of M&Ms. “That’s the main reason I get angry with her when she doesn’t follow regulations. I don’t know who she’d be without her job.”

Not for the first time, Regina wonders how Emma is doing. They’ve barely spoken since the night they met with Gold, and the lack of communication bothers Regina. It’s hard to remain idle when so many uncertainties and fears weigh on her. She’s grateful that Rob will be leaving shortly. In the peace and quiet, she might even be able to think. 

“I only say all of this because it seems as though you and Emma have become friends,” Rob meditatively concludes, as he eases off the couch. “Don’t let her make the wrong decisions for herself.” He places his hand on the small of Regina’s back, then goes off to say his goodbyes to Henry and Marian. 

Rob’s speech makes an impression, much as Regina’s loath to acknowledge it. She clutches her cell phone after he departs, but only scrolls through Emma’s old messages. 

For the first time since their lives were shaken up, Henry’s going over to a friend’s house and Marian has a date. Regina’s convinced Marian to go, with the assurance that she too has plans—but her plan had been to contact Emma. 

In her disappointment, Regina mopes around the house in flannel pajamas and makes a cup of tea. For a while, she curls up in bed and attempts to read, but when she begins re-reading whole sections, she puts the book aside. 

There’s a feeling inside of her that gradually intensifies and takes hold. It comes from a place of longing, carnality, and violence. She’s unexpectedly aroused. The more she concentrates on it, the more delightfully agonizing it becomes. 

Visions of Emma Swan bombard her, but they are not simple fantasies: Regina thinks of lying cuffed and face-down in bed, with Emma taking her from behind. 

Regina swallows thickly as Emma’s thighs clench, dripping sweat from the rough and unrelenting force of her bucking hips. Each motion fills Regina entirely, and the complete slickness of her core makes every deep, pivoting thrust all the more satisfying. 

Just as Regina’s body begins to respond to the idea of it, two fleeting and disturbing mental images interrupt her: she’s eighteen years old, and standing at home in her childhood bedroom. There’s a party happening downstairs, but she’s been sent away for bad behavior. The senator insists on being the one to talk to her, but once they’re alone and he’s finished lecturing her, his hands forcefully work into her panties. Then he bends her forward onto her vanity, on top of the tiny perfume bottles and powder brushes. She catches his gaze in the mirror as he palms her ass, and takes what he wants from her. The perfume bottles go rattling onto the floor. She grunts at the suddenness of it, and her eyes are full of murder.

It’s the same look that she gives them—the two men that stay behind at the warehouse to take advantage of her helplessness. They lift her off the chair, and put her down on a piece of cardboard they find somewhere in the back of the warehouse. She’s filthy from the dust, but the dust is nothing compared to the filth of their bodies—the stains they leave on her torn stockings, and what they leave inside of her.

Her eyes water, and she’s back in the present moment. She juts her chin as a tear slides down her cheek. Then she thrashes, and throws back her covers to get out of bed. 

She dresses herself without completely ripping apart her wardrobe, and leaves the house without putting much thought into what she’s doing. 

There’s part of her that doesn’t want or need this—a part that’s been shoved aside, but nevertheless resists what she’s going to pursue. 

It’s a disorienting experience to be of such split desires, but it’s nothing new to her, and she navigates it with grace. She drives to her destination without thinking. 

As she steps from the car, her boots hit pavement and she glides across the parking lot to where she knows Mallory will be waiting. Mallory is always there on Friday nights. 

This establishment is much quieter compared to Carla’s club—and that’s because it’s invitation-only.  
Her fierce and glittering eyes sweep over her friend, and Mallory turns a black look on her. 

“Regina,” Mallory purrs softly. “What can I do for you?” 

Regina stares beyond Mallory, at the small bar where a few men and women are gathered. It’s not easy to pick out who, or what she wants, but her roving gaze is indication enough. 

Mallory’s been hosting these little get-togethers for a long time, but Regina hasn’t attended in almost a decade. Still, she knows that behind the bar, there are rooms for her guests that wish to engage in more intimate activities. 

“You know the rules,” Mallory states, then stands up. “Safe, Sane, and Consensual.” She waits for Regina to register what she’s said, but Regina still has a strange and dissociative air about her. 

“Who is that?” Regina asks, gesturing either to a blonde woman, or a dark-haired man. She leaves it up to Mallory to decide which person she means. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Mallory drawls out, and doesn’t even bother to glance at the bar. “You’re not coming inside.”

“What?” Regina protests, taking immediate offense and flaring her nostrils in anger. “Why not?”

“You’re too high risk,” Mallory patiently discloses, and lets her words sink in before further elaborating. “We both know that what you’re seeking here is a complete departure from everything I taught you. If you want a punching bag, Regina, then I offer myself. There’s a free room in the back.” 

Mallory gives instructions to the barkeep on handling the door, and then sets off for the room without waiting on Regina. 

Regina instantly follows, and finds Mallory sitting hunched in a chair with her arms folded over her knees. 

Mallory lifts her head, and austerely passes over the keys to a chest where restraints, paddles and other items are kept. 

Regina takes the keys with as much force as she can muster and then cuffs Mallory to the chair. 

Part of her wants to continue this, so she can prove the point to Mallory that she’s capable of controlling herself. But the other part holds back, and slows her down, even as her fingers brush over the gold handle of a crop. 

She tugs the crop free from its casing, and then circles around Mallory. 

Her mind takes her away from the present, and she imagines all of the possibilities. She pictures Mallory stripped naked, and covered in bee-sting welts, positioned on all fours underneath her. It’s an exhilarating high, and one that briefly makes her feel powerful, even if she feels nothing else at all. 

Years ago, when she first met Mallory, she lacked the self-restraint to be the one occupying this position of power. As a younger woman, Regina often vacillated between meekness and moments of rare boldness. Mallory always took the upper hand in the early days of their relationship, and Regina accepted it—that is, until she decided it wasn’t enough. Then, their dynamic became less clearly defined. 

But it’s been a long time since they’ve come face to face in a room like this one. 

Regina extends the crop to strike, but instead merely drags the leather along the side of Mallory’s chin. She sits down on the woman’s lap, her face an inch from Mallory’s, and considers all that she could do. 

If she truly willed it, Regina could break their old rules—she could pitilessly inflict pain, and take from Mallory in all the ways the woman expressly indicated that she did not wish to give. 

She’s considered doing it before—back when she didn’t fully understand this lifestyle, or how to cope with her own mistreatment. 

The fleeting look of terror in Mallory’s eyes is far too familiar, and Regina loosens her hold on the crop. 

“I don’t want this,” Regina gruffly mumbles, and then removes the padded cuffs from Mallory’s wrists. 

“Smart girl,” Mallory breathes in relief, and flexes her hands to restore circulation. 

Regina withdraws in self-disgust and locks up Mallory’s trunk. 

“I don’t know if anyone’s ever told you this, Regina, but when a person experiences trauma, it’s expected that she’ll shatter.” Mallory’s eyes are like blue steel, and they never flick away from Regina. “Sometimes I think you’re hiding away the best piece of yourself, because you’re afraid of anyone seeing her and hurting her again. You let another part of yourself take over entirely--”

“Are you implying I’m broken?” Regina scoffs, with her hand on her hip. 

“I’m implying that your defense mechanism involves suppressing the kindest, compassionate part of who you are, and if you don’t figure out how to handle your grief, then it will manifest itself in the worst ways imaginable,” Mallory concludes. 

Regina stares emptily at her friend, then retreats from the room before her shame becomes overwhelming. She makes it all the way to her car, burrows into her thick coat, and clings to herself as she sobs. 

Tears drip down her cheeks, but she flings them away because she can’t loiter in the parking lot. 

If Mallory tries to run after her, or console and lecture her again, Regina won’t be able to keep pretending she’s stable. 

Her foot hits the gas pedal hard, and she drives until there’s a shopping outlet where she can pull over. She decides to wander through the aisles of a store, and aimlessly picks up a few things that she needs: she tosses aspirin, Henry’s vitamins and a bottle of cheap wine into her shopping cart. 

With her runny nose and smudged mascara, she turns a lot of peoples’ heads. She goes down a row with frozen food, and then backtracks to get a huge pack of tissues. 

Her phone rings in her pocket, and she only checks it because it might be Henry.

To her surprise, the call is from Emma, and she answers it before she dissuades herself from doing so.

“Hey,” Emma states, and Regina can hear some mumbling in the background. The agent must be at a drive-thru, because Emma addresses someone else and says, “I’ll take the double cheese, no onion, and a side of fries. Regina?” 

“I thought for a moment that you had butt-dialed me,” Regina sniffs. 

“Nope,” Emma confirms. “Intentional dialing. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Regina announces, as her hand wanders and she picks up a bottle of over-the-counter sleeping pills. “I’m just coming down with a cold. How have you been?”

“Busy,” Emma answers, and then she’s chewing in Regina’s ear. It sounds like her mouth is crammed full of French fries. “You want to come over tonight? I spoke to Rob earlier, and he invited me out for a drink, so I guess you’re not under house arrest anymore.”

“I suppose I am free,” Regina affirms, frowning deeply. “Text me your address.”

“Sure thing. I’d come over your house, but I might get caught,” Emma explains. “See you in a bit?”

“Yes, I’ll see you soon,” Regina agrees, and then wheels her cart up to the check out counter. 

Emma’s apartment turns out to be an upscale building with good security. Somehow, Regina arrives before Emma, and finds herself standing outside in a sudden rain shower. Five minutes after Regina’s clothes are soaked through, the blonde agent comes running up beside her. 

“Hey, sorry about that, my car really needed gas,” Emma shouts, squinting and yanking her hood up over her head. 

Emma lets them into the building, and they go upstairs to a two-bedroom apartment with all modern Spartan furnishings and almost no clutter. 

“Do you want a drink?” Emma immediately asks, with too much enthusiasm and pride. “I finally went to the store, so there’s juice, milk, beer—” 

“Juice will be fine,” Regina murmurs, just to be on the safe side. 

Emma pours a tall glass of orange juice for each of them, and then carries the glasses into the living room. 

“I’ll get you something else to wear,” Emma adds, and goes down a long hallway. She returns with sweat pants and a long sleeve t-shirt, which Regina puts on in the bathroom. 

After folding up the hems of the pants, Regina joins Emma back in the den. They sit next to each other on the sofa, but far enough that another person could squeeze between them.

Emma spends the next few minutes updating Regina on the events of the last few days. As Regina predicted, Emma has been independently continuing the investigation. 

It’s no major revelation when Emma mentions that she’s spoken to Mary Margaret, but it still hits Regina like a stone to the chest. 

Mary Margaret is one of the last people on earth that she wants to think about right now. 

“I’m going to meet with Mary Margaret and her father tomorrow,” Emma carries on explaining. “And I set up a meeting with someone who specializes in fine jewelry. He might know something about that necklace that Gold gave you. I mean, it might not at all be related to the case, but we should still check it out any way.” 

Regina tucks her hands into her lap to overcome the temptation to fuss with herself. She’s glad that Emma is so diligent, but talking about the investigation is more than she can bear right now.

“It sounds like you’ve done a lot of work,” Regina mutters. “How about a night off?”

Emma leans back and shrugs in agreement. “Yeah, I could use a night off. Have a beer with me? I’ll put a movie on, and we can hang out.” She grabs the beers from the fridge, pops the lids and gives one of the bottles to Regina. 

Emma surfs the cable channels, but the movie is just background for their conversation. 

“You were dressed up tonight,” Emma offhandedly remarks. 

“I went out for a little while.” Regina winces as she takes a sip from her bottle. “Henry’s at a sleepover.” 

“Hey, you don’t have to justify it to me,” Emma says, with a slight shrug of her shoulders.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Regina asks, a bit too confrontationally. 

“I mean—well, I wasn’t assuming anything. I’m just happy you’re getting out of the house,” Emma reasons, but she’s flustered and tongue-tied. “I know you aren’t the type to go out often, considering your friends act like they haven’t seen you in years. ”

Regina loosens up her arms in an effort to get more comfortable on Emma’s sofa. “It’s always so eye-opening when you accidentally say something that reveals what you really think of me. You find me boring.”

Emma deflates, dramatically goes limp and slides down the cushions. “First, you make it seem like I’m being too presumptuous about what you’re doing in your free time, and now you’re claiming I think you’re boring,” she grunts. “You know what I think? You just like making me squirm--” 

“Alas, an accurate observation about me,” Regina smirks coyly, and leaves her drink on Emma’s coffee table. 

“Yeah, well,” Emma huffs, jerking her head around to glance at Regina. “Nine times out of ten, you succeed.” 

“Why only nine?” Regina asks, rather seriously. 

Emma rolls her eyes, then strides off to the kitchen to get a second beer and a bowl of buttery popcorn. She’s already shoveling the popcorn into her face when she comes back into the room. 

“So, why’d you bail on your plans?” Emma asks, and continues stuffing popcorn into her mouth. “Let me guess: you missed me.”

Regina raises her eyebrows at Emma and softly releases a breath she’s been holding. “I was at the store with every intention of going home when you called. But I have to admit that this is much better than what I planned on doing.” 

“Yeah, it’s kind of nice,” Emma remarks, as she slouches down next to Regina. “I never have guests.”

“That’s not surprising, considering what a terrible hostess you are,” Regina playfully gibes. “Aren’t you going to offer me any popcorn?”

Emma extends the bowl of popcorn, and Regina slides closer so she can partake. This is the closest they have ever been, and Regina feels surprisingly at ease, in spite of the palpable tension that rapidly builds between them. 

Emma chews slower, and fumbles with the remote. “What do you want to watch?” she asks, and flips through the channels. “Reality TV, or superheroes?” 

“Superheroes,” Regina instantly replies, and leans back into the sofa.

“You realize this is Deadpool, right?” Emma blinks, just as a montage of Deadpool and Vanessa’s relationship plays on the television. “I doubt you ever read this comic with your kid--” 

“I must have missed this one,” Regina frowns, observing as the on-screen couple appears in a number of compromising positions. 

Emma’s practically frozen in place, and then makes the decision to change the channel so quickly that she dumps her beer all over herself. “Really?” she whines. 

“What’s the matter?” Regina asks, referring to Emma’s obvious discomfort, rather than the even clearer problem that the woman is now soaked in beer. 

Emma wastes no time in standing up and yanking her shirt off, but there’s a tank top below her flannel. Her muscular arms briefly distract Regina. 

“Nothing,” Emma grunts, then tosses her shirt aside and retrieves some paper towels to clean up the mess. 

Regina pitches in, and soon everything is returned to normal, except Emma--she still senses Emma’s jitters. “You’re acting a bit strangely,” she muses, and tests her theory by gently placing a hand on Emma’s shoulder. 

It’s a mistake, but it’s like being drawn into a riptide. Regina’s completely still, and so wrapped up in it all that she doesn’t even realize how yearningly she looks at Emma. 

Then their mouths crash together, and Emma tilts her chin up to deepen the kiss. 

Regina’s lips part readily for Emma’s tongue, and they don’t stop for breath, even as Emma lays her back on the sofa. 

Emma sheds her tank top first, and then undresses Regina. 

“Can I take this off?” Emma murmurs, nuzzling against Regina’s earlobe. The agent’s fingers tease at Regina’s remaining lacy thong, stroking over the natural line that’s formed by the way the string fits her body. Then Emma’s fingers slip under the material, and cup her pussy. 

“I want to look at you,” Emma gustily admits. 

Regina lets out a soft moan of permission. “Yes. Take it off.” She drags her short fingernails down Emma’s chest, and reluctantly releases the woman from her grasp.

Emma sits back and kneels between Regina’s legs, her eyes never leaving the woman’s face as her hands drift over the thin fabric that clings to Regina’s hips. 

Emma proceeds with subtle confidence as she pulls Regina’s panties down her thighs. That confidence becomes outright cockiness as Emma slides her gaze down in tandem with spreading Regina’s legs.

There’s a moment of silence as Emma just takes in the sight of Regina. Bare, and smooth and exposed for her. “Damn, you’re beautiful.”

Emma’s cheeks turn red with arousal, and that’s all she can say before pressing herself fully against Regina. Her mouth captures Regina’s lips in a surprisingly sweet kiss that contains a hint of insistence. 

Regina swallows down threatening emotions that come to the surface. Among them all, it’s this tenderness from Emma that frightens her the most. She can’t be weak with Emma—not now or ever—and she’s determined to draw out the woman’s lustful and forceful side.

“Tell me what you want to do,” Regina husks once she’s pulled back. Her soft breath tickles over Emma’s ear intentionally, while her arms hold the agent in a tight embrace, so that she can scrape her nails over the sensitive skin between the woman’s shoulder blades. When Emma fails to respond immediately, Regina digs her nails in a little harder, then rakes them down the woman’s back mercilessly. 

“I want to feel you wrapped around my fingers,” Emma hisses against Regina’s neck in response. Pain flourishes along the lines Regina just carved down her back, and she rumbles as the sting transforms to a fiery burning that throbs along with her pulse. 

Regina smirks, tipping her head back to watch Emma above her. She can see the desire in the Emma’s gaze, but the woman’s answer doesn’t suffice, and Regina isn’t ready to let it go. “That’s it?” She taunts darkly, her voice low, the tone a mixture of honey and gravel as she quirks an eyebrow. “I’ve heard how vulgar you can be, Em-ma, or is your language only colorful when you’re pissed off?” Then she does something she hasn’t done in a long time—she pouts over dramatically, baiting Emma with a sly little murmur of, “I expected more from you.”

That gets through to Emma. The remark delivers an added kick of adrenaline to Emma’s system and the woman’s heart starts to race. Regina can feel it, and she can plainly see Emma’s jaw firm. 

Being mocked for not living up to expectations must bring Emma back to places she doesn’t want to dwell on, and yet the agent responds like a gauntlet has been thrown. 

“You think I can’t be crude?” Emma challenges. Her right hand moves between their bodies to press her palm against Regina’s pussy, grabbing just a little harder to feel the heat against her hand.

“I don’t think you have it in you to say exactly what you want,” Regina pushes back smugly, her smile purely for show as she raises her hips to grind herself into Emma’s palm. She knows she’s playing with fire by pushing Emma’s buttons this way, but she wants to see just how far she can take it. 

Emma seems to search Regina’s face for any kind of malice, and can’t find a trace. 

“You want me to talk dirty?” Emma assesses rhetorically, “I’ll give you more than you can handle.” She vows, a slight grin tugging at her lips as she watches Regina’s eyes darken with excitement. 

“Are you waiting for an invitation?” Regina sasses back with a suggestive smirk. “I told you to tell me what you want to do. I don’t enjoy having to repeat myself.” She punctuates that statement by clawing the woman’s back again, and hearing Emma’s hiss of pain evokes another, more wanton, roll of her hips.

Red hot lines blossom to life across Emma’s skin, and the agent bites back a low moan. 

“I want to give you a good, hard fucking,” Emma growls quietly, two of her fingers parting Regina’s sensitive outer lips to caress along the slick warmth they conceal. “I want to feel your hot little pussy stretch around my fingers until you can’t take any more.” 

Despite her words, Emma’s fingers don’t delve into Regina--they merely stroke along the brink. Teasing little caresses that soon have Regina writhing, impatient for more than what she’s being given.

Emma smirks, her fingertips slip-sliding effortlessly over Regina’s hard little bundle of nerves that swells to attention with her touches. “I want to feel the way your slick hole clenches tightly around my fingers. I want to hear the wet smacking as you take me faster and harder - until you can’t control your body and you rock back into me, greedy for more.” 

Regina lets out a groan that is caught somewhere between pleasure and frustration. The way Emma toys with her is infuriating, but every exquisite rub of the woman’s fingertips has her legs twitching of their own volition. It’s maddening. It’s everything she wants while simultaneously being everything she is denied. “You’re enjoying this.” She half snarls, and rotates her hips to get more friction.

Emma grins lazily, her hand shifting to control the pressure and speed. “So are you,” she taunts somewhat arrogantly. “Your pussy is already so wet for me. I bet you can’t wait to be thoroughly fucked.”

Dirty talk isn’t the most eloquent way to make a point, but it certainly seems to turn Emma on, saying such things to Regina’s face. 

The frustrated little grunt that Regina gives in return only fuels Emma. 

“More than all of that, you wanna know what I really want?” Emma pauses, her fingers stilling as she leans closer to Regina, their lips barely touching as she whispers against Regina's mouth. “I want you to want it. I want you to demand it.”

Emma slowly traces her fingers through slickness until they are precariously close to Regina’s entrance. Deliberately, Emma’s fingertips circle the exact place they want to go. 

Emma adds roguishly, “I want you to tell me how much you want my fingers inside you. How desperately your pussy needs me inside it right now, because until you do, you aren’t getting anything…”

Something flashes in Regina’s eyes--maybe excitement, or a flicker of rage, but she still can’t deny how much she wants Emma right then. She wants to wipe that smug smile off the agent’s face, too-- as much as she wants to congratulate Emma for turning the tables. But she won’t do either. “And if I don’t stroke your ego?” She pants quietly. 

“Then we stop, I go get another beer, and maybe we can watch the rest of Deadpool,” Emma replies. 

As much as Emma’s going along with the banter Regina’s initiated, Regina can tell that Emma is beginning to feel conflicted. After all of this foreplay, Emma will back down unless Regina gives her a strong go-ahead. 

“I have a better idea,” Regina divulges wickedly. One of her hands grasps at Emma’s arm while the other smacks soundly against Emma’s backside. Regina grips roughly to pull the woman closer. 

With a lift of her hips and a firm tug on Emma’s arm, Regina moans deliciously as Emma’s well-aimed fingers push all the way inside of her. She secures her legs around Emma’s waist, and rides all three fingers as fast and hard as she can. “You do what I say, and give me exactly what I need. If you’re a good girl, then I’ll return the favor,” she rumbles. “You talk a big game. But let’s see if you really know how to fuck me.” 

Emma is too startled for a moment to react. But then she grabs one of Regina’s ass cheeks, and drives the pace of Regina’s rapid bucking. “Your greedy little pussy just couldn’t wait a minute more, could it?” Emma grunts provocatively, and it’s clear that she’s now fully committed to proving herself. “How does it feel, Regina, to be so full -- to have me so deep inside of you?” 

“Inadequate,” Regina goads, in spite of the obscenely wet noises her pussy is making. “Is this the best you can do?”

Before Emma even acts, Regina senses another exhilarating shift in the air between them. They’ve stepped over boundaries with each other, and now she’s really going to get to know who Emma is – not just the aloof person that she’s formed a friendship with over the last few weeks, but who this woman is privately. 

In a sudden and smooth motion, Emma lifts Regina over one shoulder, and carries her into the bedroom. Emma’s fingers rest firmly against Regina’s rear, and she delivers a firm slap before dropping her onto the bed. 

Emma’s hand returns to the snug warmth of Regina’s pussy, but this time she’s bent over Regina, and her muscular arm strains with the punishing speed she adopts. 

Emma daringly stretches Regina’s tight sex with three curling fingers, and watches every thrust with rapt interest. “That’s it,” she grunts, rubbing the responsive inner wall that squeezes around her. “Take it all. You can say what you want, Regina, but your little cunt doesn’t lie. You fucking love this.” 

Regina pitches her hips forward, rewarding Emma for the displays of dominance. “You have a filthy mouth,” she snaps, roughly grabbing ahold of Emma’s chin. “Why don’t you put it on me?”

Regina kisses the woman fiercely, and frees Emma only after nipping the agent’s bottom lip. 

Emma withdraws and unbuckles her belt, kicking off her pants and underwear before fully settling into bed with Regina. They wrap around each other, and Emma burrows her face in Regina’s neck as she pistons her fingers inside of Regina. 

Emma moves to suck on one of Regina’s red, aching nipples and simultaneously thumbs the responsive, swollen bud between her thighs. She impulsively shifts to bite Regina’s earlobe, and throatily murmurs, “Say it. If you want me to lick that sweet pussy of yours, be explicit.” 

Regina responds instinctively, and grabs a fistful of Emma’s hair. “Taste my pussy,” she demands, and guides Emma’s face into position. 

Emma eagerly swipes her tongue over Regina’s opening and then kisses the delicate area above it, wrapping her lips around Regina’s clit. She pumps her fingers into Regina’s core, all while keeping a controlled motion with her mouth. 

Regina loops her legs over Emma’s shoulders. She gyrates furiously, until her knees begin shaking and she tenses, letting out the softest, erotic moan. 

Emma holds her steadfastly and continues, quickening even after Regina trembles. She lifts her head for only a moment, wiping her chin as she breathlessly huffs, “That must have been to your satisfaction.”

Regina tangles her fingers into Emma’s hair and gives the woman a smoldering glare. “Depends on your definition of satisfaction,” she drawls, then slides her forefinger under Emma’s jaw, directing the agent’s gaze up at her. “You see, Emma, I take a much different approach.” She shoves Emma back on her ass, and then sidles in close. 

Emma gulps, and scrambles to arrange her limbs in a way that isn’t awkward. “Yeah?” she asks. “Are you going to demonstrate?”

“Of course.” Regina’s warm breath raises goose bumps in its wake as she leaves whisper-light kisses on the inside of Emma’s thighs. She rolls her tongue in slow, clockwise undulations over Emma’s hot folds. Her lips pucker around Emma’s stiff clit, and she moans at the taste of the woman’s velvety smooth arousal. 

With her back arching up from the mattress, Emma grips the sheets and whimpers as Regina overwhelms her with sensation. “Fuck.”

Every caress of Regina’s mouth, and unexpected twist or curl of her tongue, elicits a tiny shudder of gratification from Emma. The heated friction from Regina’s plump lips makes Emma delirious. Regina’s mouth opens wider, and her tongue and lips work in concert to bring Emma to the brink. 

Rocking vigorously, Emma eventually succumbs to pure feeling and release over and over again. Then Regina changes tactics, reversing the motion of her tongue and intensifying Emma’s pleasure. 

Regina’s tongue continues its circuitous path until Emma shakes and falls flat on the bed. 

“How disappointing,” Regina rumbles darkly. “I thought you had more stamina.” She grips Emma by the knees, with the intent to drag the woman.

At long last, Regina’s struck a delicate boundary. She’s not exactly been sane or grounded this evening, but she’s about to step over a line, and give in to truly over-the-top mania. She really should have seen it coming, what with all of the events of the night, but self-knowledge has never done much for her. 

Just as Regina’s about to act on impulse and inflict pain, something surprises her and makes her pause. 

Emma reaches out, and acts first, enclosing her in a loose embrace. The very different form of physical contact shuts her up, and Regina broodingly settles into the woman’s strong arms. It’s confusing to be held this way. 

“Give me a second and I’ll be ready,” Emma mutters. Her calm, green eyes are watchful and trained on Regina. They’re not exactly cuddling, or latching onto each other, but there’s a comfortable lull in their fast-paced and aggressive interaction. “You okay?”

Regina is still thinking of making Emma grovel, of pushing the woman far beyond endurance or unleashing all of her pent up negative energy. “I’m fine,” she automatically answers. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Recovering from a mind-blowing orgasm,” Emma smirks, then uses her elbow to prop herself up and tickles the back of Regina’s shoulder with her fingers. “You’re way hotter in bed than I ever could have assumed. Not that I spent a lot of time thinking about that... Are you sure you’re okay?” She’s suddenly nervous, if the gleam in her eyes offers any gauge of her feelings. 

Regina’s hand glides down Emma’s ribcage, along the breastbone and to the woman’s pelvis. Her fingers absently gather Emma’s arousal, spreading it along pink folds as she tries to fight back unwanted emotion. “This isn’t what I’m accustomed to,” she gruffly discloses. “For me, sex is an outlet—a release of a different kind. I need pleasure—and pain.” She straddles Emma’s lap, and ends the possibility of any further discussion by grinding their bodies together. 

Emma clutches her by the waist and sits at an angle against the headboard. She lifts Regina ever so slightly to increase their carnal contact. With all of their slickness between them, it’s a smooth ride and Regina extends each rotation of her hips to heighten what they can feel. 

“Fuck me,” Regina breathily commands. “I insulted you earlier. Put me in my place, Emma.”

Emma flattens her palm into Regina’s ass, leaving a white imprint behind in the flesh; then she spanks softly until dark caramel skin turns red. 

Regina moans from deep in her belly, tightening the muscles in her thighs and core as she rocks wantonly. 

“I should bend you over my lap, and really spank you,” Emma half grunts, half exhales. Her hand falls away for an instant, and lands on the bedside drawer which she hurriedly yanks open. She tugs out a harness with a sleek instrument attached, which she lays out beside them. 

Regina glances down at the unexpected addition to their coupling, but never once slows her deliberately drawn out strokes. She intently forces herself downward in a perfectly timed motion that makes Emma come again. 

Emma halts her movements, and keeps Regina’s body pressed against her own until she’s finished groaning. Then she gathers Regina up, and abruptly moves them both. 

Emma picks up the harness, and straps the leather onto herself. She stands at the edge of the bed, and gazes down at Regina. “Come over here,” she quietly states, but Regina remains comfortably seated near all of the pillows. 

“Why don’t you make me?” Regina hisses, with a defiant scrunch of her nose. “Make me take your cock, Emma. Show me you know how to be in charge.” She coyly quirks an eyebrow at Emma, and the agent reacts instantly, carefully pulling her towards the bedside and onto her knees. 

Emma guides the thick tip of the cock between Regina’s legs. She rests the length of it against her warm pussy for an instant before withdrawing slightly and pushing inside. 

Uncertainty and panic shoot through Regina, intermixing with extreme pleasure. It builds as her muscles squeeze and untighten around the wide cock. 

Emma kisses up Regina’s spine, and then slides a hand under Regina to gently caress her belly and rub her pussy. 

“Is this okay?” Emma whispers. “Relax, and I can take you faster--”

Emma stands upright, and Regina glances over her shoulder as the blonde shamelessly looks down, taking in the sight of her very full hole. 

This sends heat directly to Regina’s core, and she mindlessly and indecently moves her body in unison with Emma. 

Sweat trickles down Regina’s curving back and leaves a golden sheen to her skin. 

Each time Emma lunges forward and sinks the cock in deeper, she thrums Regina’s clit. Regina unravels as she pulsates internally around Emma’s cock. 

The ache inside of her isn’t enough, and she berates Emma into going faster. “Don’t you dare stop,” she snarls. “I’ve seen the way you look at me. You’ve wanted to fuck me for weeks, haven’t you? So, fuck me. Show me you aren’t completely useless!”

It’s intoxicating, and neither one of them are thinking of the consequences. Emma pounds her harder, and Regina withstands the forceful thrusts until she comes more powerfully. She falls face-forward on the bed until she catches her breath. It’s dizzying, exquisite, and oh-so-damning. 

Afterwards, she can barely look at Emma and collects her clothes as if they’ve just spent the last hours arguing instead of having sex. She can sense Emma’s sudden concern, uneasiness and distress.

Emma gives her privacy, and steps out into the kitchen in nothing but a button-up and underwear.

Regina puts on her drying skirt and blazer, and then wanders in the living room in search of Emma. “It’s late,” she murmurs, not bothering to explain her immediate need for distance. “I’ll see myself out.” 

“Perhaps you can give me a call tomorrow, and let me know how your meetings go,” Regina belatedly adds. It’s a poor effort to make sure she hasn’t hurt Emma, but she finally tries to make eye contact. 

Emma avoids her, and her facial expression is unreadable. “Sure,” she quietly stresses. 

Regina drops her gaze, and heads to the door. She glances back down the shadowy hallway, and her throat constricts as the lights in the apartment dim. Then Regina moves quickly to the elevator, and feels her heart sink with it as she takes it down to the bottom floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter includes a scene in which Regina has a very brief but toxic interaction with Mallory. They don’t have sex, but the scene is sexually charged. This isn’t a Dragon!Queen fic, but like Maleficent in the show, Mallory has a role to play in pulling Regina back from a dangerous edge. 
> 
> After this scene, Regina goes to see Emma, and they have sex. This is a graphic, consensual sex scene.  
> I wouldn’t describe it as a wholly toxic connection, because Regina and Emma are beginning to feel things for each other. But I also wouldn’t call the event a healthy, healing experience, because they’re not ready for this. Regina’s using sex as a coping mechanism, and it’s more like a power game for her than making love. Emma’s concerns are hinted at, but because this part of the chapter focuses on Regina’s perspective, we don’t get Emma’s side of it until the next chapter. Emma is drawn to Regina, and very much wrapped in what’s happening between them – and she does behave in a way that will bother her later on (since obviously a part of her knows Regina shouldn't be doing this - not now, not yet). 
> 
> That said, this whole experience just gives Emma more insight into Regina, and this brings them closer together in the end, instead of pulling them apart.


	9. Chapter 9

Emma shows up at the restaurant early, for lack of anything better to do than sit at home and think. She’s sleep deprived, underdressed, and coping with the effects of a lingering hangover. 

It’s a quarter to seven in the evening, but she still orders a cup of coffee to counteract everything she’s feeling, even though the caffeine barely affects her system. All she can do is replay the previous night in her mind. 

Her recollections make her stomach twist in not-entirely unpleasant ways, but the whole experience with Regina now seems like the stupidest mistake. She should have acted differently instead of giving in to desire. 

Self blame and guilt causes her hang her head. She’s always been too close to her work, but this time she’s _really_ gotten too close—and she can’t help but fixate on how Regina might be doing. She wonders if she’s made Regina’s suffering even worse. A part of Emma has latched onto the phrase “completely useless,” and she can’t help but throw that accusation at herself along with half a dozen other self-accusations. 

She’s in the middle of inwardly questioning her own motives when Mary Margaret White shows up, flanked closely by her father. 

“We’re a little early,” Mary Margaret explains, as her father pulls out a chair for her. “But we like to be punctual. Father, this is Federal Agent Emma Swan.”

Former Senator Leopold White wears a thin-lipped smile, a pressed formal suit, and a navy tie. “Emma Swan,” he gently intones, as he shakes Emma’s hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He attracts the immediate attention of the waiter, and orders an expensive bottle of champagne, then returns his focus to Emma. “I understand there is something I can do to assist you in your work. I’m more than delighted to be of use, but first, let’s have a drink. It’s not every night that I dine out with two beautiful young ladies.” 

Mary Margaret blushes and laughs, as if she’s well accustomed to her father’s compliments. 

Emma barely cracks a smile, but accepts Leopold’s gesture in the hopes that the alcohol will get him talking. “Well, this is a new experience for me too,” she replies, conversationally. “I’ve never had dinner with a senator before.” 

“We’re quite a different class of people,” Leopold confides, and carefully steeples his fingers as he chuckles. “We spend most of our time chatting about states of affairs—and some of us, romantic affairs, if all of the press stories are to be believed. I try to steer clear of the gossip, which is no easy feat, I assure you. I prefer to live a quiet life.” 

“My father has been enjoying his semi-retirement,” Mary Margaret adds, and glances at the waiter as the he pours them all glasses of champagne. “Now, he golfs most days, and plays billiards at the gentlemen’s club.”

Leopold sips his champagne cautiously, and then regards Emma from across the table with a slight, but jovial grin tugging at his lips. “So, my dear, what can I do to help you?” he asks. “You seem a bit tired and out of sorts, if you don’t mind me saying so. Perhaps I can lift your spirits in some way.”

“I was just hoping to ask you a few questions,” Emma states, after taking a rushed swallow of champagne. “My current investigation involves several people, and you happen to be one of their mutual friends.” She’s a little flustered by his observations about her, but she keeps a neutral face. “Albert Spencer, and Regina Mills.”

“Ah, yes,” Leopold hums. His dull brown eyes reveal no spark of recognition, but his lips recede into a firmer line. It’s not a frown, but an expression that seems practiced, and like a placeholder for a frown. “Albert Spencer. We attended the same preparatory school when we were younger. Still to this day, he’s a close friend and political supporter. As for Regina Mills, she’s the daughter of another old friend. Her mother Cora and I were very close for a time.”

“Maybe you can tell me some stories about them,” Emma suggests, scrutinizing him and the abrupt but hardly noticeable change in his behavior. She won’t ask more questions now -- not if she plans to make this a casual dinner. It’s better to get the senator to relax again instead of turning this into an interrogation. 

The waiter interrupts them and they all order dinner, but by the time the appetizers are delivered, Emma casually returns the conversation to their original topic. 

“So, your daughter mentioned that you helped Regina Mills out at one point,” Emma interjects. “I suppose you were her mentor, since you have a law degree and that’s what she decided to pursue.”

Leopold selects a raw oyster from his dish and swallows it in a careful gulp. He drinks his champagne to clear his throat. 

“I remember you tried to guide her with her academics,” Mary Margaret corroborates, since her father is temporarily silent. 

“I did,” Leopold eventually agrees. “She actually had an interest in fine art when she was younger, but I believe I inspired her to choose a more stable profession.”

Emma lifts her eyebrows at him, prompting him to continue. “Do you recall if she had any enemies in your community?” she finally asks. 

“No,” Leopold prudently considers out aloud. “No, there was no one that I would call her enemy. Everyone wanted what was best for her, but Regina’s stubborn nature always prevailed. She didn’t take kindly to anyone’s advice, and unfortunately some of her behaviors as she grew older were antisocial. She wasn’t well-liked as a young adult, but I think it was tough love that our community always gave her.” 

“Tough love?” Emma tilts her head, and knits her brow in confusion. 

Mary Margaret appears to be equally perplexed by her father’s version of events. “She used to get into frequent fights,” she mutters. “I know that none of the shopkeepers on the main street wanted her business, because they disapproved of her.”

“What did she do that was so awful?” Emma inquires. “I mean, what made everyone in town turn against her?”

“She threatened others, and vandalized private property,” Leopold reflects. He slides the prongs of his cocktail fork into another oyster shell and scoops out the smallest sliver of meat. “It was an oddity in our quiet summer town, but I am sure her antics were no worse than those of any wayward young woman. I doubt anyone would be harboring a grudge against her for what she did when she was scarcely more than a child.” 

“Honestly, Father, I’m not sure about that,” Mary Margaret quietly chimes in; she’s hardly touched her salad. “I spoke to Graham Humbert yesterday, and he told me that the town would probably revolt if she ever came back for a visit. He’s moved away up north, but he said he still keeps in touch with everyone.”

Emma breathes through flaring nostrils over the conflicting reports. 

“I don’t think Regina has fond memories of anyone in that town, either. She hated it there, and I’m not sure if time has changed that.” Mary Margaret adds. “She especially hated me, and I’m not even sure what I did to her.” It’s more than the woman wanted to reveal, and Emma picks up on the warring emotions in the doctor’s face. 

This night has gone much differently than Emma expected—at least, Mary Margaret’s behavior is remarkably less formal outside of work. 

Leopold appears to tense over Mary Margaret’s honesty, and places his palm over his daughter’s hand. “It’s better not to dwell on the past, or let it spoil the present,” he remarks in a suddenly upbeat tone, and pulls a quick smile onto his dry lips. “I prefer to think of my current blessings instead of what happened years ago. I can only hope that Regina’s found happiness and peace within herself, in spite of all she’s done.”

Emma leans back in her chair and frowns in concentration. Leopold’s placating lines of wisdom don’t sit well with her. 

The waiter arrives with their entrees and the food temporarily occupies Emma, but not enough to make her uneasy feelings go away. 

“You said you were friends with Regina’s mother?” Emma mutters, after taking a few bites of pasta. 

“We were even in business together for a while,” Leopold affirms, and cuts his steak into long strips. “It’s common to blame the upbringing when a child misbehaves, but Cora was not a bad parent. She always acted according to her daughter’s best interests.” 

“Can you tell me anything about your business relationship with Mrs. Mills?” Emma requests, though from all of her research, she already knows that Cora owns the pharmaceutical giant MANXOME and that Leopold has held a stake in the company since its rocky beginning in the early eighties. 

“I hold a background in patent law,” Leopold rejoins. “As a younger man, I traded my services in return for shares in companies. MANXOME, in particular, is one of my greater accomplishments--though that success came only much later. Cora had the vision to bring it into being, and with my partnership, the business made incredible strides. It’s not easy bringing new and affordable drugs to market. It’s the labor of many long years, but it is worth the effort, because we are able to help people.”

Leopold’s conversational finesse is impressive, but Emma sees through his bland, diplomatic composure. She’s suspicious of him, but it’s not so much because of what he’s saying—it’s more of the general vibe he gives off. 

By the time they eat dessert, Emma has a pounding headache for reasons that have nothing to do with her hangover. Listening to the former senator’s rhetoric takes a lot of mental effort, especially when she asks him about Albert Spencer and Andrew Midas. It’s a welcome change when Mary Margaret begins talking again, and describes her idyllic childhood. 

“I hardly noticed when my father was away,” the doctor laughs. “We had a staff to help us, and when he came home, there was always a big party. Most of the afternoon parties were very stuffy affairs, but everyone relaxed at our summer evening events. We set off fireworks, and swam in the pool, and ate ice cream. There weren’t many girls my own age, so I followed Regina around. I idolized her.” She frowns wistfully, and digs her spoon into the lemon tart in front of her. “Do you remember the night I fell in the pool and almost drowned?” she asks her father. “It’s a miracle Regina happened to be there to save me. Pure chance and good luck. I was in such a haze that night. What was she doing there so late, anyway?” 

“I believe her parents were in New York,” Leopold mutters, and folds up his napkin. “They were visiting relatives.” He fixes his tie, which is a dead give-away of his discomfort. “Regina stayed with us from time to time. Cora didn’t like her to be alone with their staff, and Mary Margaret enjoyed her company.”

Emma tucks all of this away in her memory as important. Leopold is someone who definitely deserves further scrutiny. 

“Emma,” Mary Margaret softly pleads, as she finishes her dessert. “I hope you don’t mind me calling you Emma. If you see Regina, wish her well for us, won’t you?”

Leopold summons his coat from the waiter, and readies himself for the street. He places a business card on the table. “If you have any further questions, this is a private line where you will be able to reach me,” he explains. “I’d be happy to meet with you any time. I must say I appreciate your discretion. With my advancing age, I have no desire to see my testimony or personal business in any of the newspapers.”

“I’ll be in touch,” Emma agrees, and firmly shakes his hand to let him know she means it. “Thank you for meeting with me. Have a good night.”

“And you, the same,” Leopold replies. 

“It was nice seeing you again, Emma,” Mary Margaret cheerfully says. “I hope you’re able to make some progress with your case.” 

Leopold offers his arm to Mary Margaret, and the two of them leave the restaurant. 

Emma discovers afterwards that the bill has been taken care of, and that she has a text message from Regina. 

_Stop by after your meeting._

Emma shoves her phone into her pocket. As much as she’d liked to go right home, there’s no chance of that now. 

\--

Regina’s nursing a glass of red wine when Emma raps on the front door. She smoothes down her hair and studies her face in the hallway mirror, then goes to greet Emma. Her hand lingers on the knob before she swings the door open. 

The agent bounces on her heels, and steps inside the second Regina moves back. 

“Henry’s upstairs in his bedroom,” Regina begins, with a squint of her eyes that attests to what this discussion will cover. “So, let’s try to keep our voices down.” She leads the way into her study, where a fire crackles behind a metal grate in the marble hearth. In the soft light, her eyes and the liquid in her glass seem to be of the same substance. 

“I think we can both agree that we acted irresponsibly last night,” Regina mutters, collectedly.

“I blame myself,” Emma breathes, shaking her head as she spills out all of her regrets. “Doing what we did--it was way out of line on my part. I should have put an immediate end to it.”

“We’re both at fault,” Regina insists, unwilling to allow Emma to bear the full burden of guilt. “As we move forward with this investigation, it’s best if we set boundaries. The first rule is that we don’t share any physical or emotional intimacy--” 

“Wait,” Emma blusters. “I still want to get to know you better, and the physical intimacy was amazing—I mean, most of it. I just think we went way too fast. You need time to heal. I can help—”

Regina gingerly sets down her glass, and then tucks her hands behind her. She purses her lips indecipherably. “Is that so?” she muses. “By help, do you mean you’ll work harder?”

“I’m doing the best I can right now.” Emma falters, and blinks in confusion. “I mean…I can also just be here with you when you’d rather not be alone. We can talk, and hang out—” 

“We aren’t in a relationship,” Regina resolutely declares, cutting her off. “It’s better if we don’t complicate matters between us by spending any additional time together. Frankly, I think your feelings for me are starting to affect your judgment already.”

“My feelings?” Emma asks incredulously. “Look, I’m being honest. I’m interested in this—whatever this is. I’m not good with all of the touchy-feely crap, but we seem to have a lot in common. I’m not suggesting we even date, but if you want to write a long list of rules, chances are I’m going to break them. It’s just in my nature, I guess.” 

Regina flicks her eyes away from Emma, and glowers at their shadows. She sits down on the brocade sofa, and gestures for Emma to join her on the one opposite. 

Emma takes a seat, but she’s visibly on edge. “So, what are we going to do?” she asks. 

Before Regina has the opportunity to continue the conversation, Henry pops his head into the room and startles her. 

“Hey—Emma!” Henry beams, and rushes in to high-five the agent. He plops down on the sofa beside the blonde. “What are you doing here?”

“Checking in on your mom,” Emma simply explains, but she stares hard at Regina in a way that conveys much more than her words can express. “Have you been taking care of her?” she asks Henry. 

“Of course,” Henry proudly asserts. “I set up traps outside of her bedroom just in case. And my room has a panic closet now.” 

“What?” Emma blinks in bewilderment. 

“Mom had it installed,” Henry announces. “I can hide in it if anyone breaks into our house.”

“Henry, no one is going to do that now,” Regina softly insists, even though it’s pointless. Her son has already made it quite clear that she’s still incredibly paranoid, and she’s certain that she’ll be discussing this matter with Emma later. 

“I want to show Emma my traps,” Henry demands, and reaches for Emma’s hand before Regina can come up with an excuse as to why the agent doesn’t have time for that. 

Henry drags Emma upstairs with Regina close at their heels. The boy has rigged up wires to trip-up intruders. There’s also an air-horn that lets out a loud blast whenever Regina’s bedroom door opens. 

“Jesus, I’m so glad I won’t be trying to sneak into your bedroom any time soon,” Emma breathes, once Henry is out of earshot. 

Henry comes back with a box full of small building parts. “Want to help me secure the downstairs?” he asks. 

“It’s late,” Regina frowns. “Wouldn’t you rather do something else?” It’s a Saturday, and although they have plans for tomorrow morning, she can’t justify sending Henry to bed earlier than usual. 

“Agents like us don’t take nights off,” Emma chimes in, merely to spite Regina. “Let’s go, Henry.”

Regina wants to resent Emma for this, but Henry’s face lights up with excitement. He carries his equipment down the stairs, and lays it all out on the living room carpet. To enhance his pretend play, he digs out his old walkie-talkies, and he and Emma have conversations with each other while standing in separate rooms. 

Regina brings them hot cocoa and popcorn, and then sits on the floor in front of the sofa while Henry constructs a fort around her. He uses a bed-sheet, two chairs and the coffee table, and this fort turns out better than the first one he’d made weeks ago. 

“We can all fit,” Henry grins, and soon all of them are crammed into the fort. “So, Emma, are you sleeping over?”

“Oh--I don’t know, kid.” Emma sounds reluctant, and throws a worried glance Regina’s way. “I just stopped by for a short visit. I need to get home soon.”

Henry hunches in disappointment and props his arms up on his knees. “I thought maybe mom had sent you the love note she spent all morning writing you,” he sighs. 

“Henry, what on earth are you talking about?” Regina asks in exasperation. 

“It’s in the saved email drafts on your phone,” Henry hesitantly explains, then launches into more detail. “I saw the word ‘sex,’ which is something you said that only adult couples who are very much in love should do together. Plus, I can tell you like Emma.” 

Emma’s face changes as she goes through a series of emotions. She brightens, cringes and then anxiously fiddles with her thumbs. “Kid, I think you might actually be suited for life as a spy or a federal agent,” she mutters. 

Unlike Emma, Regina doesn’t experience a range of responses to her son’s outburst. Her rage instantaneously simmers, but she manages to keep her voice calm. “Henry,” she scolds. “You know better than to read my private messages.”

“I know,” Henry dejectedly admits. “I’m sorry. I know it’s wrong, but you haven’t been telling me things lately and I’m worried about you. I sometimes hear you crying when you think I’m asleep.”

Emma appears just as remorseful as Henry, and when Regina struggles to reply to her son, Emma jumps in and quietly states, “Henry, your mom is going through some really tough stuff right now, but I’m sure she’s not trying to keep any secrets from you. Right, Regina?”

Regina inhales, and delicately combs the tousled hair away from Henry’s eyes. “That’s right,” she confirms. “I will always tell you when there’s a problem, or if I decide to become romantically involved with anyone.”

“So you were going to tell me about you and Emma?” Henry perks up. 

Regina wishes there is some way to deny her involvement with Emma, but there’s no easy way around it, given what Henry’s read on her phone. 

If Regina claims that she’s not dating Emma, Henry might conclude that having sex without forming emotional attachments is acceptable. She’d rather teach her son better values than immediately distance herself from Emma. 

“I would have told you about the relationship, yes,” Regina replies. “How do you feel about me seeing someone?”

Emma looks like she has whiplash, but she keeps her mouth shut. 

“I’m happy about it,” Henry says cheerfully. “I don’t want you to be alone anymore, and Emma is cool.” He flops onto his belly and grabs the TV remote. “So, can we have a sleepover?”

“You had a sleepover last night,” Regina reminds him, though she wouldn’t put it past her son to beg. “We’ll see how the evening progresses,” she noncommittally concludes. 

Henry sprawls out contentedly and browses through the channels in search of cartoons. He settles on Star Wars, and then grabs a big handful of popcorn. Half of it ends up in his mouth, and the other half lands on the floor as he resumes talking. “Emma, Batman or Superman?” he asks. 

“Is this a test?” Emma frowns uncertainly. “Batman, I guess, but only because of his gadgets and his awesome car. Every hero needs a vehicle that reflects who he is and what he’s capable of--”

“Is that why you drive around in that broken down sunshine mobile?” Regina quips. She’s seen Emma in several different cars at this point, but she’s referring to the agent’s own car. 

“I’d drive a muscle car if I had the time to work on it myself,” Emma argues. “But my Bug is still a classic, in its own right.” 

“When I get older, I want a motorcycle,” Henry informs them. 

He’s barely coordinated enough to ride a bicycle, but Regina still takes him seriously because she’s terrified of him getting hurt. 

“Absolutely not,” Regina states. “I will buy you a good, safe vehicle when you’re sixteen, and you’ll drive that until you graduate from college.”

Henry’s transfixed by the TV, so fortunately he doesn’t protest, but Emma’s focusing on Regina. 

“You got his life all planned out, don’t you?” Emma remarks, then stretches because she must be getting a cramp from sitting on the floor. 

“I think about his future, yes,” Regina admits. 

She’s not sure why Emma’s choice of phrasing bothers her so much, but for some reason it brings her own mother to mind. Perhaps because she’s more like her mother than she’d like to acknowledge. 

She’ll be seeing her mother again soon enough, because she promised to visit last week. 

Tomorrow morning, she’ll wake up early, and she and Henry will drive out to the Cape to sit through an uncomfortable luncheon with both of her parents. 

“Do you think about yours?” Emma asks offhandedly, as if the present discussion has also stirred other thoughts in her mind. “Like, it’s a cliché question, but where do you see yourself in ten years?”

“I see myself doing what I do now,” Regina effortlessly replies. “Helping others, and striving to be at peace with the world.” 

“That reminds me of something Leopold White said when I met with him earlier,” Emma guardedly states. “He and Mary Margaret send their regards, by the way.”

“I suppose your meeting with him was productive,” Regina exhales. 

“There’s something off about him, but I can’t tell if it’s just because he’s a politician, or what,” Emma gripes. “His stories are carefully worded, that’s for sure.” 

“He’s a talented speaker,” Regina begrudgingly mutters. “He uses that to his advantage and puts a positive spin on whatever he’s saying, even if the subject he’s discussing happens to be vile.” She decides now is the best time to clean up Henry’s mess, and begins picking popcorn off the carpet. 

“Oh, so you do think he’s shady,” Emma breathes, as though perplexed by Regina’s judgments of the former senator. 

“I never said he wasn’t,” Regina intones, to set the record straight. “I said he’s unlikely to be involved in the types of illegal activities that a major terrorist network would carry out. But Leopold White is a misogynist, and a scumbag. Make no mistake about that.” She takes the popcorn bowl away to the kitchen and busies herself with loading the dishwasher, just for a moment’s reprieve. 

“You seem—upset,” Emma notes, selectively picking her words. The agent stands in the doorway, hanging back with her thumbs hooked through the belt loops on her jeans. “Did you have a bad experience with him?”

Regina slams the dishwasher shut, and fluffs out her hair. “What gave you that idea?” she asks, but there’s a large vein pulsating in her forehead and she can’t be sure what sort of expression is pulled on her face. 

Emma’s eyes flash with intrigue. “Just a hunch,” she claims. “You want to clue me in as to what went on with him?”

“Not particularly,” Regina sniffs, and she’s grateful when Henry charges into the room at top speed. 

Henry latches his arms around her and puts on his best pleading face. “Can I have ice cream?” he begs. 

“You’ve had enough sugar for one night,” Regina warns. “I want you to go put your pajamas on and brush your teeth.” 

Henry pouts, but follows her order without being told twice. He pushes by Emma and disappears into the hall. 

“I don’t want to jump to conclusions,” Emma mutters, continuing the conversation right where they’ve left off. She flutters her long eyelashes and steps up behind Regina. 

Regina stands in front of the counter, and glances over her shoulder at Emma. “Then don’t,” she says. 

Emma locks her chin in a frown and nods slowly. 

The agent then places a hand on Regina’s back, and a small shudder passes through her. 

Much to her own surprise, Regina moves into the touch rather than away from it. “So, if you’re spending the night, perhaps you’d also like to take a ride out to the Cape with us in the morning,” she quietly suggests, determined to change the subject. “It’s the end of the season, but my parents still like to spend their weekends there in the fall. I haven’t been back for a visit in forever.” 

Emma drapes an arm around Regina and chuckles. “Earlier, you were going to kick me out, and now you’re inviting me to hang out with your parents?”

“Do you have something better to do?” Regina challenges, and earns a faint smile from Emma. 

“I guess I can multi-task if I go with you,” Emma shrugs. She seems lost in her own head for a minute, and Regina senses that their unfinished discussions must still be lingering in her thoughts. 

But Regina can’t stomach the idea of Emma knowing her more painful secrets, nor does she want to talk about what happened the night before. 

“I could talk to some of the neighbors, check out the local attractions…try not to make a fool of myself in front of your mom and dad,” Emma lists off. 

“There’s certainly no need to impress them,” Regina advises. “My mother will despise you by default, and my father will be so preoccupied with keeping her happy for the duration of the visit that he might not even notice you.”

Emma wipes her sweaty hands on her jeans. “So no pressure,” she puts it mildly. 

“I wouldn’t say that,” Regina remarks, with an almost-wink.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings apply.

Emma finds herself standing in Regina’s guest bedroom with a bundle of blankets and too many pillows. She throws the extra comforters and pillows down, and then flops onto the bed. 

In some respects, she had gotten further with Regina as a perfect stranger. Now that they’ve shared a greater level of intimacy, Regina wants to keep her at arm’s length. Emma can only blame herself for not slowing things down. 

As she tosses and turns, she feels intense shame over her own eager participation. The more she thinks about it, the more Emma speculates that the whole escapade might have been Regina’s way of confronting some inner demons. Emma just hopes she isn’t the stand-in for the demon, and that her behavior hasn’t somehow fed Regina’s pain. 

Yanking a blanket up over her head, Emma curls on her side and listens to all of the quiet sounds that the house makes. She usually sleeps with the television on, or music playing in the background, because it prevents her mind from concluding that she’s back in isolation. 

Her chest tightens, and she folds her arms over her head to expand her lungs. She squeezes her eyes shut, and focuses on the noise of steady, running water that comes from the bathroom down the hall. 

It relaxes Emma enough that she’s able to drift off for a little while, but every so often she glances at the time on her phone. In her semi-conscious state, she registers that over two hours have gone by, and that the water is still running. 

The realization immediately awakens her, and she stealthily pads down the hall to check the taps. Regina’s bathroom is locked, and there’s light streaming through the cracks in the door. 

Emma knocks first, and then whispers loudly, “Regina? 

The lack of response prompts Emma to dismantle Henry’s air-horn alarm and peek into the bedroom. The bed looks perfectly made up. 

She returns to the bathroom door and leans against it. “I’m coming inside,” she warns, and uses a piece of Henry’s wire to free the locking mechanism. 

Regina sits crouched in one corner of the shower stall, right underneath the cold spray. Her arms and legs are tucked into her, but she rapidly stands up as soon as she spots Emma. With both hands, she grabs for a fluffy towel and covers herself as she shuts off the water. “What the hell?” she spits. “There’s a bathroom right by the guest bedroom.”

“I didn’t have to use the toilet,” Emma explains, with her hands out in front of her. “The water’s just been running for the last few hours.”

“You were timing me?” Regina blinks, and begins patting her face dry. Her soaking wet hair clings to her neck, and she’s shivering. 

“Not exactly,” Emma falters, and reaches for another towel to wrap around Regina. “You’re freezing. Do you usually take cold showers for hours at a time, or were you actively trying to give yourself hypothermia so you could get out of going to see your parents’ tomorrow?” 

Regina appears grateful for the attempt at levity. Her lip even curls briefly into a smile before she cringes. “Come into the bedroom,” she states, and then hurries off ahead of Emma. 

Emma steps through the bathroom’s inner door that leads into the bedroom. “Regina—I hope what we did last night isn’t affecting how you feel, or making your life harder than it already is,” she breathes out. “I should have been careful with you.”

Regina modestly towels off, and enfolds a navy robe around herself. “I came onto you,” she sighs. “Not the other way around. The truth is, I was in the mood to make foolish choices. We share a mutual attraction, and I took advantage. We’re pretty similar, you and I. The people in your life treat you differently because of what you went through, too. I don’t want to be treated any differently, and you might be the only one who understands that.” 

“I do,” Emma instantly affirms. “I get it.” But does she? She thinks of all the things she can say to Regina, and they all seem hypocritical. “You know, just after I came back and tried to go on living my normal life, I struggled. There are nights I don’t remember because I drank so much. I’d wake up at the bar, or in my bathroom, and one time I even woke up on a street corner. I thought I could just make myself forget about what happened, but I couldn’t. You have to find a way of processing what occurred. For some people, that involves therapy, or talking to the friends they trust. There’s a hell of a lot of people who self-destruct instead. Drugs, alcohol, sex – that’s what they turn to when they want to forget. I’m not implying that sex is your thing, but if it is, just be safe about it. It might make matters worse, rather than numb the pain you’re in -- ”

“I appreciate your misguided, but well-intentioned interpretation of my behaviors,” Regina rattles off, as kindly as possible. “Having sex with you might not have been the best idea, but rest assured that it didn’t make my problems worse.” She sinks down on the edge of her bed, and waits for Emma to join her before turning down the lights. “On the contrary, it gave me back something they took away from me -- control.”

Emma makes no move to get under the covers next to Regina. “I’m not sure I completely agree,” she mutters, without total certainty. “I guess it depends on whether you slept with me because you wanted to, or if you did it to feel powerful again. In the second case, you’re sort of — being influenced. You think you’re in control, but really, the hurt you experienced is fueling your actions.” She gathers herself up, along with a throw blanket, and shifts into the chair next to the bed. “I’ll hang out here for a while,” she mutters. “Until you fall asleep.”

Emma bets that she’s misstepped, although she’s done nothing but explain her reasoning. 

Regina draws in a sharp breath, and then unties her bathrobe. She changes into her pajamas in the darkened room, and slides into bed. 

Emma listens to the rustle of Regina’s sheets and blankets. Even though they can’t see one another, Emma’s aware that Regina is staring right back at her. 

Neither she nor Regina can fall asleep immediately, though the silence affords them the illusion of it. 

Somehow, Emma does eventually drift into a deep slumber; she plans to only be there half the night, but it’s daylight when she shifts again. Regina’s bed is already made, and there’s an extra blanket draped over Emma. She stands up to stretch and walks out into the hallway while still wrapped in her covers. 

Henry runs up the stairs and flies past her. “Mom says we have to be ready to go in twenty minutes!” he calls, and ducks into his bedroom. 

Given the insane time constraint, Emma takes a few shortcuts: she tosses the blankets into the guest bedroom, makes her clothes from yesterday look presentable, and finger-combs her hair the best she can. Fortunately there’s a spare toothbrush waiting for her in the bathroom, and she can at least brush her teeth and wash her face. 

Still bleary-eyed, Emma stumbles downstairs to find Regina. “Thanks for getting me up a whole twenty minutes before we have to go,” she grunts, as she sweeps into the kitchen and goes straight to the coffee pot. 

“I’d rather you be well rested than perfectly put together,” Regina says unapologetically. 

There’s a big breakfast laid out on the table – fluffy scrambled eggs, golden pancakes and enticing crispy bacon. Emma’s mouth waters as she wanders over to a chair, which seems to be pulled out just for her. “You know those fairytales where the witches lure kids with sweets?” Emma asks, tucking one of Regina’s real cloth napkins into her shirt. “This reminds me of that, but way better. You really went all out, didn’t you?” She grabs a small jug of maple syrup, and pours it over her pancakes, then shoves a strip of bacon into her mouth. 

“What?” Regina asks, and leans one of her hips against the kitchen counter. “Has no one ever made you a nice breakfast before?”

Emma could simply say “no,” but she’s aware of how pathetic that might sound. Thankfully, Regina continues to speak before she can say anything at all.

“I just wanted to say I’m sorry,” Regina tensely announces. “For using you. I enjoyed what we did, but I think what you said last night was perceptive. If I was serious about entering into a physical relationship with you, I would have made you sign a negotiation form. It’s like a contract—” 

“Wait, what--” Emma sputters, although her mouth is stuffed with pancakes. “A contract? Like, when you join a new gym, and you have to sign a document stating that you’re using the equipment at your own risk? You’re hot, Regina, but I don’t think I’m going to have a heart attack while I’m in bed with you—”

Regina’s face darkens, and then her eyes gleam like those of a jungle predator. “No,” she husks impatiently. “A contract, defining our specific sexual interests, and our limitations.”

“Oh,” Emma blinks, scrunching her nose a bit at her own stupidity. “Right. Because everyone does that.”

“For certain types of relationships, it’s wise,” Regina murmurs, and lifts up her handbag. 

She offers Emma a slip of paper, one that Emma’s seen before. She’d found part of the tightly folded page inside of Regina’s planner when they first met, and that’s how she tracked down Mallory. The other part she’s never seen before. 

“Oh,” Emma repeats, and pulls so hard on the cloth napkin at her neck that she yanks it out of her shirt. She has just enough time to pocket the slip of paper before Henry marches into the room. 

“I’m ready!” Henry huffs, laden down with a backpack and two different jackets. 

Regina stops to fix her son’s collar and hair, though he fussily shrugs her off after a minute. 

Emma piles some eggs and bacon onto a pancake, folds it, and then stands up. “Me too. Let’s go.”

Regina rolls her eyes, and ushers them both out to her car. 

The interior is pristine, and Emma is pretty shocked that Regina’s allowing her to eat in the passenger’s seat. 

Henry hops into the back, and pulls out his tablet. “Should we play a game?” he asks. 

“What sort of game?” Regina mutters, half-distracted by backing out of the driveway. 

“I-Spy, 20 questions, or trivia,” Henry suggests. The kid must go on road trips often, because he’s organized. He opens his backpack again, and takes out a zip-up hoodie and a giant notebook. “Or maybe we should just get to know Emma better. I mean, you’re in love with her, and we don’t even know her favorite color.”

Regina’s head swivels rapidly around so she can glare at her son, but then she returns her focus to the road. 

“Red, blue, yellow,” Emma indecisively stutters. “Green isn’t bad, either.”

“So, you don’t have a favorite,” Regina muses. 

“Mom likes red, black, and blue,” Henry chimes in over Regina’s oblique criticism. “My favorite is blue, though I also like green and yellow--”

“Henry, I need you to keep a secret,” Regina suddenly intones, catching his eyes for a moment in the rearview mirror. “Your grandparents don’t get to see us that often, and we don’t want to overwhelm them with too many details of our busy lives. I think it’s best if we introduce Emma as our new friend--”

Emma hasn’t met either of Regina’s parents, since Booth had been assigned to handle all dealings with them. She’s supportive of the lie, only because she’s less likely to be scrutinized by Regina’s family if she’s classified as a friend. 

“In fact, let’s tell them an entirely different story about how we met Emma,” Regina encourages. “Perhaps we can say that we met her at the coffee shop near our house – you know, the one you like, that sells cupcakes.” 

“Okay,” Henry shrugs, as if it doesn’t really matter to him. “I’m going to check out the beach, and let you two do all of the talking. Last time we spent a day with your parents, Grandma made me stand with a book on my head for ten minutes just to improve my posture. Then she bribed me with five hundred dollars, a puppy, and an Xbox so I’d beg you to come for a longer visit at Christmas.”

Emma’s suddenly much more aware of her posture. “Grandma sounds like an interesting woman,” she mutters, under her breath. 

On paper, Cora Mills seems intimidating enough, and listening to Henry’s stories doesn’t greatly alter Emma’s view. 

“You don’t know the half of it,” Regina breathes, navigating through the morning traffic. “My mother spent my entire childhood trying to sculpt me into a better version of herself. In the end, I wasn’t quite as malleable as she would have liked. She’s disappointed in me, but that doesn’t stop her from attempting to pick up right where she left off.” 

It takes over two hours for them to drive down to the Cape, but with Henry chatting away, the time goes quickly. 

The landmarks and signs make it pretty clear that they’re nearing their destination, but Emma would have known it just by glancing over at Regina. 

Regina’s hands are gripping the steering wheel with far more force, and she appears nervous. “I haven’t been back here since I left when I was eighteen,” she admits. “We always visited my parents at their other homes.” 

Emma gives Regina a soft look, and then takes in their surroundings. Even this late in autumn, the trees are bright and brilliant in the radiating sun. The leaves have just started to change, and their gold and flame-red colors scatter everywhere. 

Pine trees, hedges, and heartier foliage become more common as they get closer to water. The town itself has a quiet, country charm, with wide brick sidewalks and quaint shops. It’s still quite a drive from the town to the more private neighborhoods, where luxury homes are dispersed by the seaside. 

A mansion made of white stone belongs to Regina’s parents. There’s a three-car garage, and a structure that seems to have a watchtower at the top. The driveway leads to the main house, which has both a modern and classic face—somehow reminiscent of the lighthouses in the area, while committing to a more aesthetically sophisticated style. 

Regina parks the car a distance from the house, so they have to get out and walk the remaining way. 

To Emma’s surprise, the front door swings open long before they reach it, and an older ruffled-looking man runs down the steps to gather Regina into his arms. 

“Daddy,” Regina squeaks out, in a quavering voice. “Emma, this is my father, Henry Sr.” She smiles brightly, though her face also reveals mixed emotions. “Daddy, Emma is my new friend--”

Henry Sr. reaches out to shake Emma’s hand, and then claps his grandson on the back. “It’s nice to meet you,” he kindly states. “And so nice to have all of you here. Come, come inside—”

When Emma turns around, she spots an older woman standing proudly in the doorway, who barely lowers her chin to gaze down at them while they move up the porch steps. 

“Regina,” Cora joyfully calls, and beckons her daughter to her. Once Regina’s within reach, Cora wraps her arms tightly around her child. “Do you have any idea how much I’ve missed you?” She gives only a cursory glance to Emma, before attending to Henry. She puts her hands on his shoulder first, and then on his unruly head of hair. “Henry,” she coos. “You’ve grown, and so has your hair. When was the last time you had a haircut?”

“Three weeks ago, Grandma,” Henry replies, giving Cora an obligatory hug. 

“Well--no matter, but get it trimmed again soon,” Cora advises. “You can barely see.” She lets the boy pass by her and go into the house, but then directs her attention back to Emma. 

Emma smiles instinctively, although it’s one of her flustered smiles. 

“Mother, this is Emma,” Regina says, lifting one hand to gesture. “She’s one of my new friends. She decided to keep me company on the long ride down—”

“You have a beautiful home,” Emma states awkwardly. 

“Yes, thank you. Be sure to wipe your feet when you come in,” Cora sniffs, and then withdraws inside to the parlor. “The sitting room is just down this way. We can have tea and chat.”

Henry looks just as enthused as Emma feels, but he follows his grandmother with long strides. 

The spotless sitting room is decorated in all cream and neutral furnishings. It’s tasteful but also hard to clean. Emma makes a mental note not to spill anything. 

“Actually, Mother, Henry would like to go down to the beach,” Regina intercedes. “Maybe we could all take a stroll—or perhaps, Father, you could take Henry?”

“That’s a fine plan,” Cora eagerly agrees. “Henry Sr. will take young Henry and your new friend Emma down to the beach. That way you and I can have some time together.”

Emma is reluctant to bail on Regina, but going to the beach sounds much better than drinking tea. 

“We’ll return in time for lunch,” Henry Sr. assures his wife, though he’s gazing over at Regina with clear worry on his face. He leads the way out to the back of the house, and into an expansive yard where the home’s three-tiered balcony overlooks a pool and stone hot tub. 

Henry rushes after his grandfather, with Emma right behind him. It doesn’t seem like she has a choice in the matter. 

Henry fast outpaces Henry Sr., and runs across the lawn and down through the reeds along the beach. 

“The kid has a lot of energy,” Emma says, when she realizes Henry Sr. has curiously glanced her way. 

“Most do, at his age,” Henry Sr. softly concedes, raising his bushy eyebrows. “I’m happy that Regina brought you here to meet us. It’s a relief to know that she hasn’t been alone. I would have gone to her, but I wasn’t sure how I would be received. It’s been a long time since she’s called, let alone visited.” 

“I bet it’s just because she’s so busy,” Emma reassures him, though she knows there’s more to it than a hectic schedule. 

“My wife—Cora—she’s very critical of Regina,” Henry Sr. confides, casting his gaze downward at the sand. “I am hoping this visit won’t be a disaster.” 

“Regina’s really strong,” Emma gently insists, matching her pace with Henry Sr.’s slower gait. She shields her eyes from the bright sun, and stares back at him. “I’ve never met anyone as resilient and put together as her. Whatever the day brings, she’ll be okay.” 

Regina’s parents only know the barest details of what transpired weeks ago, and Emma briefly wonders if Henry Sr. will try to pump her for information on his daughter. But that doesn’t happen. Instead they walk along the seaside and he points out the landmarks—the places Regina loved as a child, and the playhouse where her collection of seashells is still displayed. 

“Are you close to your family, Emma?” Henry Sr. wistfully asks. 

Emma’s eyes are following young Henry, as he rips off his shoes and walks barefoot through the surf. The waves roll in, filling up the empty spaces he leaves. “I don’t have a family,” she breathes, although somehow it feels like a lie. It’s too premature to develop such a strong attachment, but she thinks that if she and Regina don’t work out as a couple, they’ll always be friends. And that’s the closest thing to family she’s ever had. “Grew up in foster care. I tried to keep in touch with some of the other kids I lived with, but I got bounced around a lot. It’s not a big deal, though.”

She shrugs, mostly because Henry Sr. looks at her with pity. “So,” she mutters. “What was Regina like as a kid?”

“Very adventurous,” Henry Sr. answers easily. “I sense you and my daughter are kindred spirits. You seem quite adventurous and strong, too.”

\--

Regina lifts her teacup to her lips, and drinks down the scalding black tea that her mother’s prepared. 

Thus far, they have exchanged only pleasantries – chatting about Henry’s grades and interests, and her mother’s business endeavors. 

Cora has stepped out to take an important phone call, but she hurries back to make the most of their time alone together. 

“You don’t look well, dear,” Cora remarks, after staring at her daughter for many minutes in silence. “I mean, to the untrained eye, perhaps—but I’m your mother and I know when something is troubling you.”

Regina chokes on her tea as she stifles a laugh. Cora has always been oblivious to how she’s feeling, or more accurately, her mother rarely ever cared. 

“You’ve been through some trying times as of late,” Cora continues, unabashed. “I just hope you realize how much I support you and love you. I’m not sure you’ve ever really understood that. You, Regina—you’re my legacy. You have so much potential, and you still have your youthful beauty, besides. I wish you’d take me up on my job offer, and that you’d finally find a distinguished gentleman and settle down--”

Regina softens over the unexpected declaration of love, and her eyes well with the beginnings of tears, but she sobers immediately when her mother starts talking of legacies. “I don’t want to run your company, mother,” she firmly states. “And I don’t want to get married -- not to the type of person you have in mind. If I’m your legacy, you’re going to have to learn to be content with whatever I choose to do with my life.”

“I just want you to choose wisely,” Cora protests, taking hold of Regina’s hand. “Who is this ‘friend’ you brought here?”

“I met her at a coffee shop,” Regina seamlessly lies. “She’s good—company.”

Cora glares at her skeptically, and pours another cup of tea. As she adds cream and sugar, she mutters, “And you’re aware of her Sapphic leanings, no doubt? The way she stares at you—” 

“Mother,” Regina hoarsely scolds. “Please don’t start.”

Fortunately, her mother’s scrawny assistant enters the room to let them know that their lunch is ready. 

Cora’s demeanor changes drastically in the presence of her assistant. “Thank you, Walsh,” she softly replies, and then goes into the dining room. 

Henry Sr., Emma and Henry aren’t back yet, but Regina lingers at the window to watch for them. 

Henry appears first, at top speed and with untied shoelaces—he rushes over the lawn, and disappears out of sight. He’s panting by the time he reaches her.

“Are we having lunch?” he asks, expanding his nostrils as he furiously sucks in air. 

“We are,” Regina sighs. “I can see that all of the fresh air has affected your appetite.” 

“I’m working on growing a foot before the sixth grade,” Henry proudly declares. “Did you have fun with your mom? You seem pretty upset. Almost as upset as that time when I was five, and I filled the bathtub with paint.” 

“I’d rather be back in that moment cleaning paint from the tub than having lunch with your grandmother,” Regina admits, only because her son is so aware of her moods. She puts an arm around Henry as they stroll down the hall and into the dining room. 

Her mother has observed all of the usual formalities, and the table is set as though they’re expecting other company. 

There’s a fresh salad course awaiting them, and Henry practically dives into his plate. He’s not like other children of his age, who reject vegetables on sight. 

“Henry, slow down,” Cora commands, from her place at the head of the table. “Don’t you remember all of my lessons on etiquette?”

“Mom took me to therapy to help me forget them,” Henry snorts under his breath, then deliberately puts his elbows down on either side of his plate. 

Just as Regina settles down in her seat, Emma and Henry Sr. come strolling in from their walk. 

Emma glances expectantly over at Regina as she pulls out her chair. 

“Regina, darling, why don’t you tell us the full story of how you and Emma met?” Cora suggests, with an almost self-congratulatory smile. 

Regina opens her mouth, but her mind blanks. 

“We were at a coffee shop. The barista served us the wrong drinks,” Emma intermediates. “I got Regina’s caffè mocha, and she got my cappuccino.”

“Then they started talking, and Emma wrote her number on mom’s coffee cup!” Henry animatedly adds, eager to participate in the storytelling. 

“She did,” Regina confirms, carefully avoiding any nervous habit that might give away the falsehood of their explanation. “We met for coffee again many times after that. It turns out we have a lot in common.” 

“They both like the color blue,” Henry grins, ducking down a bit as both Regina and Emma glance at him. 

Cora has mastered the art of smiling in a way that is neither cheerful, nor warm—and that is exactly the type of smile she wears while listening to their little story. “It sounds like you’re leading a full life, sweetheart,” she muses, her voice dropping into a lower register while still retaining its subtly mocking tone. 

Regina holds herself proudly, without giving any indication that she cares about her mother’s opinion. “And you, mother?” she returns. “You’ve no doubt been keeping busy with your usual, regimented schedule.”

“Always, my love,” Cora politely replies, as she cuts into a tomato on her plate. “Proper planning and discipline prevents poor execution.” She sticks her fork into the tomato and lifts it to her lips. “Don’t you agree, Emma?” she jeers, and takes an instant to fully take stock of the stranger at her table. “You seem like someone who knows how to single-mindedly pursue a goal.” Her penetrating gaze sweeps back to Regina, making her implications quite clear. 

Emma’s face appears to harden, as she boldly rejoins, “It’s true. I don’t let obstacles get in my way, either.” 

Cora’s mouth twists, as if there’s something sour on her tongue. “Some obstacles can be quite daunting and impossible to overcome,” she lilts. 

“But you should never give up,” Henry interjects, with perfect timing. “Right, Grandma?”

Cora stiffens, and the threatening gleam in her eyes begins to recede as she looks over at Henry. “Right, Henry,” she begrudgingly agrees. “Why don’t we talk about you? How about you tell me what they’ve been teaching you at that school for derelicts and delinquents?”

“It’s one of the best public charter schools in Boston, mother,” Regina defensively imparts.

“The school does have excellent ratings,” Henry Sr. mutters, in a bid to support his daughter.

“I still think a private school would be better equipped to shape my grandson,” Cora sniffs unreceptively. “This is the time for him to make connections with future leaders and CEO’s.”

“I don’t need to be friends with them,” Henry insists, fidgeting as two women enter the room and serve them lunch. “I’m going to be a writer, or a spy.”

“Speaking of professions, what is it you do, Emma?” Cora drawls impatiently. She’s having little luck with Henry, and might resort to ridiculing Emma if she’s feeling in the mood. 

“I work for the government,” Emma calmly reports. “I spent half a decade in the military. Entered Basic when I was eighteen, and then went on to Advanced training. The job I do now is different, but requires a very similar set of skills--”

Emma mutters a quiet word of thanks to Cora’s staff as they place serving trays on the table, and Henry follows Emma’s example. 

Regina, on the other hand, completely forgets her manners. As hard as it is to sit in a room alone with her mother, and bear the brunt of Cora’s criticisms, it’s even harder to stay levelheaded while the older woman scrutinizes Henry and Emma. 

“Quite admirable,” Henry Sr. states, before Cora can share her opinion on the matter. “I, myself, was in the navy for a short time.”

Henry Sr. has always been able to read Regina’s face, and today is no exception. He squeezes his daughter’s hand to console her. 

Regina draws strength from her father, and ignores her mother. Cora begins speaking of wartime and politics. It’s a long tirade about the foolhardiness of government spending and the future of America.

Henry’s absorbed with the food. He finishes the last of his lemon pepper salmon, and then steals what remains on Regina’s plate. Her stomach is unsettled with the fear of what her mother might say or do next. Queasiness and exhaustion are a bad combination, and Regina has half a mind to turn her keys over to Emma for the drive home. 

“I still have high hopes for Regina, that she might follow in my footsteps, or enter a life of politics some day,” Cora prattles on, in a way that fills Regina with foreboding. “Though she alienated all of the people locally who would have sought to help her.”

Regina’s complexion pales at her mother’s open discussion of the past. 

“There was a good-looking boy with high ambitions who broke her heart,” Cora softly croons, giving an inaccurate version of what occurred. “I warned her that there would be consequences for sneaking off with him. Everyone loves to talk and spread rumors. And when there’s irrefutable evidence of wanton behavior, what can be done? She had to learn a harsh life lesson early on, and endure the judgment of our community. But she didn’t resign herself to handling it gracefully. She retaliated against anyone that slighted her.”

“Cora, we shouldn’t discuss such sensitive subjects,” Henry Sr. pleads. “Not when such young ears are present.” 

Cora’s careful vocabulary will keep Henry from asking too many questions, but the boy is smart enough to have gotten the gist of the conversation. He’s gawking worriedly at his grandfather. 

Regina has gone completely wooden in her seat. She recovers just enough to fold her napkin and place it on the table. “It’s alright, daddy,” she mutters. “Henry still needs to finish his homework, so we’d better be going now anyway.” 

“Can’t you stay for dessert?” Henry Sr. deflates. 

“I’m afraid not,” Regina answers, and thankfully her son doesn’t put up a fuss. 

Emma’s the first on her feet, and she reaches out to shake both Cora and Henry Sr.’s hands. “Thank you for lunch,” she says. 

“Oh, stay,” Cora snorts derisively. “You’re not really going to leave over idle chitchat, are you?”

“I have school tomorrow, Grandma,” Henry argues on his mother’s behalf. He briefly loops his arms around Cora’s shoulders and squeezes. 

Regina digs her keys from her handbag and wordlessly passes them to Emma. Then she says her goodbyes to her father, who pulls her into a hug and promises to call. 

Cora escorts them to the door, and draws Regina in close before she can evasively slip by. “I’m sorry,” her mother gripes. “I just want what’s best for you, and I figured that after twenty years, you’d have moved on. But I forget that you’re just like me. You hold onto your grievances. I just wish that you could let them go, so you can finally be successful--” 

“I’m not ‘holding’ on to anything, mother,” Regina adamantly asserts. “You have the wrong impression of what happened. I’ve tried to tell you that a hundred times. Now, I truly have to go.” She retreats down the porch steps, then across the paved driveway, and slides into the passenger seat of her car. 

Emma’s adjusting the driver’s seat, rearview mirror, and the radio. 

Regina slumps down against the door and rests her head on the leather interior. 

Henry opens his backpack and yanks out a packet of M&Ms. “Dessert, anyone?” he offers, and leans over the seat to dispense the chocolate into their palms. 

Regina accepts some of the candy, although she normally would decline. 

“Your mother certainly lived up to all of my expectations,” Emma comments, as she shoves the entire handful of her candies into her mouth. “I don’t think I could last a day with her, let alone eighteen years.”

Regina slouches, and continues to clutch the colorful chocolate, even as it melts in a rainbow against the heat of her skin. “Sometimes I wonder what my life would have looked like if I had actually done all that she demanded of me,” she admits. 

“You’d have nothing but regrets,” Emma says confidently. 

“Yeah, you wouldn’t spend time helping people,” Henry reflects, picking all of the greens from his pile of M&Ms. “You’d just be helping yourself.”

Regina chews the inside of her bottom lip. She tries to snuff out all of the negative emotion that her mother’s so adept at bringing out in her. 

Her hand falls onto the radio dial by itself, and she glances over at Emma. “What are we going to listen to on the ride home?” she asks, selecting a classical station. 

“Not this,” Henry asserts, and slides his upper body between the two front seats to turn the radio off. He gets distracted by the design on Emma’s wrist as she steers onto a side road. “Hey Emma, how come you have that tattoo? Is it for good luck?”

Emma eyes the black flower and then peers at Henry through the rearview mirror. “It’s in memory of a friend and colleague,” she sedately explains. “She was with me through a lot of hard times when we were in training and in the field. She’s been gone for a couple of years now, but this is my way of keeping her with me.”

The atmosphere in the car grows ever more grim. Emma has the habit of looking like a kicked puppy when she’s unhappy, and Regina fixates on the younger woman for a minute. It’s Emma’s face that makes her decide they all need an escape from their melancholy thoughts.

“There’s an ice cream shop at the end of this road,” Regina directs. “Why don’t you pull over? I feel like we could all do with some cheering up.”

The ice cream shop’s sign is painted with blue and pink cotton candy colors. A cut out of a cartoon ghost encourages visitors to try their “spooky” fall flavors. Apart from one other car, they’re the only ones in the parking lot. 

They huddle into the small shop, and a smiling blonde comes out from the back room where she’d been doing inventory. “What can I get for you?” she cheerily asks. 

Henry gazes into the freezer case indecisively, but then announces, “One scoop of chunky monkey and two scoops of chocolate chip cookie dough.” 

“I’ll have two scoops of the vanilla fudge ripple on a cone,” Emma mutters distractedly, but she perks up a bit as the woman behind the counter serves up Henry’s treat. 

“Give me the dark chocolate brownie sundae,” Regina requests, and passes a twenty-dollar bill over to the helpful shop owner. 

“There are tables out back if you want to sit,” the woman informs them, while she scoops out the ice cream for Emma’s cone and Regina’s sundae. “It’s still nice enough weather for it.”

“Thank you,” Regina replies. She gathers a handful of napkins and follows Emma and her son out to the seating area. If she remembers correctly, this quiet little spot also has another appeal for young families. 

“There’s a playground and a duck pond!” Henry excitedly tells them, although it’s not news to Regina. He bolts for the jungle gym, and miraculously balances his ice cream cup, even as he throws his legs over the metal bars to sit. 

Emma wanders over towards the swings. “I’ll push you,” she offers, glancing back at Regina. 

Regina’s lips curl upward in a tiny smile, and she gracefully lowers herself onto one of the swings. 

“I’m having fun with you and the kid today,” Emma offhandedly says, as she gently begins pushing. “In spite of your parents.”

“It’s been nice having you around,” Regina agrees, tilting her head so she can watch Emma. 

“Maybe we could make this a regular thing,” Emma considers, and lifts her right arm that’s covered in a rivulet of ice cream. She licks at the trail of vanilla, but it continues to slide all the way down to her elbow.

“You should have just gotten a cup,” Regina smirks. 

“You know I prefer to live dangerously,” Emma jokingly boasts. Her ice cream drips again, melting faster than she can handle. 

“Come here, and I’ll help you out of your sticky situation,” Regina demands. 

“I like sticky situations,” Emma insinuatingly declares, but then extends her hand to Regina, who wipes the mess away. 

“All clean,” Regina announces, with a roll of her eyes. “Except for your dirty mind.”

Emma’s thick lashes flutter halfway shut, and her lips part before quirking up in a smile. 

The magnetism between them is all too much for Regina, and she breathes shallowly as she stares at Emma. 

“We should get back on the road,” Regina weakly murmurs, and withdraws from Emma before they both act foolishly, and make-out on the playground like a couple of teenagers. 

“The kid is still running off his sugar rush,” Emma argues. 

“Henry,” Regina calls out, with all of the strength in her lungs. “We need to get going.” 

If she plans to establish some boundaries with Emma, it’s going to require all of her effort. 

She’s given Emma the resources to choose whether or not to advance their physical relationship, but emotional intimacy is something entirely different. 

They already share an emotional intimacy that’s undeniable, yet also uncomfortable in its newness for both of them. 

It’s been a long and hard day. If she’s not cautious, Regina knows she’ll only make it harder on herself. 

\--

Later that evening, after Emma’s left and Henry’s gone to bed, Regina takes a book into the living room and curls up on the sofa. She flips to where her bookmark holds her place in the novel. If she could only retreat into the story for a little while, she might be able to clear her head. But she can’t seem to get past page thirty-seven without interruptions. 

Her doorbell rings, and she listlessly carries herself into the foyer with the expectation of finding Ms. Swan on her front step. Instead, it’s Mallory—looking peeved, and ready to lecture her. 

“I haven’t been able to get you on the phone all day,” Mallory grumbles.

“I drove out to the Cape to visit my parents,” Regina mutters, doing her best not to appear rattled. “In case you’re wondering, my mother hasn’t changed a bit.” 

Mallory struts inside, and towers over Regina to study her up close. “I’m surprised you endured that alone, especially after what happened last night,” she sniffs. 

Regina lowers her gaze as she begins to exhibit all of the telltale signs guilt. With a scarlet blush creeping up her neck, and her hands clasped together, Regina admits, “Emma went with me.”

Mallory instantly translates the acknowledgement into the confession it really is. “No,” she loudly exclaims. “Please tell me you didn’t. You slept with her?”

Regina knows better than to come up with a lie on the spot. “It’s not as bad as you think,” she insists. 

“It’s worse,” Mallory rants, and moves a few paces towards the mirror. She’s too agitated now to stand still. “Even if you followed the rules of basic human decency, it’s been mere weeks since—”

Mallory stops, and glares down at Regina sympathetically, even as she refuses to sugarcoat what she’s going to say. “Since those men raped you,” she brutally enunciates.

Regina lets her eyes drift away from Mallory’s severe scrutiny. As Mallory’s words hit her forcefully, her chin quivers and she clutches her middle tightly. “How long would you have liked me to wait?” she whispers. “The passage of time won’t change what they did.”

“You’re not emotionally stable enough to be in any kind of physical relationship right now,” Mallory accuses. “You put on a good act, but last night showed me the truth.” 

“I just wanted to feel powerful—to feel something other than what they made me feel,” Regina feebly argues. She’s compelled to justify what she did, even though they’re both aware she’s in the wrong. 

“You put yourself and Emma seriously at risk,” Mallory seethes, as if flabbergasted that Regina would even attempt to make excuses. 

“I am aware of what I did, and I’m not saying it was the right choice,” Regina exhales. “Just that I know why I did it.” She senses oncoming tears, and wanders into the living room for privacy, but it’s already too late. Her throat clamps up, and she sniffles quietly. 

Mallory takes off her heels, and sidles closer. She loosely drapes her arm over Regina’s shoulder, and brushes the dampness from the smaller woman’s face. “You want a glass of wine?” she asks, and guides Regina over to the couch before grabbing a bottle from the cabinet. 

“I’m not suggesting you run to your therapist tomorrow, but just be careful with your mind and your body,” Mallory sighs exasperatedly. “Let yourself recover.”

“This feels like part of that,” Regina mutters. “It feels like reclaiming my body and my life.” 

Mallory holds out a glass half filled with wine. As Regina takes it, Mallory searches her eyes, which shine with traces of tears and indecipherable emotion. 

Mallory can only blindly guess at what’s going on in Regina’s head. “Are you in love with Ms. Swan?” she drawls, and then pours her own glass of wine. 

“No,” Regina instantly snaps, although uncertain. “It’s complicated.”

“That’s as close to love as it gets with you,” Mallory points out, and raises her glass to drink. 

“What the hell does that mean,” Regina grates, clearly offended. 

“Please.” With an expressive arch of her eyebrow, Mallory sits cross-legged on the couch. “Did you forget I dated you? I know you, Regina. There’s nothing more complicated than loving when it comes to you. You feel everything quite intensely. Every passion, and every hatred.”

“Emma and I have become friends,” Regina reluctantly admits. “That’s all.”

“I’d say you’re a little more than friends if you let her into your bed,” Mallory astutely remarks. 

“We were at her place, actually,” Regina frowns. 

“Technicalities,” Mallory grunts. She gathers the warm throw blanket from the back of Regina’s couch and arranges it over both of their laps. “Come on. We’ll turn this into a slumber party, and you can tell me everything that’s on your mind. I don’t have court in the morning, and my new interns can handle my calls. They’ve already nicknamed me the Dragon Lady, so I’d say they’re learning faster than most.” 

“Do you have a new star pupil?” Regina asks, as she impulsively tucks herself into Mallory’s side and lays her head on her friend’s shoulder. 

Mallory’s eyebrows jump in surprise, but she affectionately strokes her fingers through Regina’s silky hair. “Why? Are you jealous that your position might be usurped?” she teases. 

“Not to sound over confident, but I know you can never replace me,” Regina smugly rumbles. 

“You’re right about that,” Mallory muses. She seems momentarily far away, in a distant memory. “I still remember how timid you were on your first day, but you got over that very quickly.”

“You knew exactly what to say to rile me,” Regina broods. 

Her first day interning at Mallory’s firm had been terrifying, but she recalls how she stood her ground and spoke up. 

“It was intentional,” Mallory chirps with arrogance. “If you couldn’t stand up to me, you wouldn’t be able to stand up before a packed courtroom and win your case. Now, look at you.”

Regina does as instructed, and gives herself a disparaging once-over. “Yes, look at me,” she huffs, almost hatefully. “I’m a mess.” With the back of her hand, she wipes a stray tear from her cheek. 

“A good night’s sleep will do you wonders,” Mallory gruffly states. “You know what else helps? Leaning on people who care about you when you have bad days.” Meaningfully, she glances down at their current position on the couch. 

Regina shifts in spite of her protesting limbs. “It wouldn’t have been a bad day, but Emma and her team have done nothing but dredge up people from the past who I want to forget--” 

Being this honest makes her stomach lurch as violently as if she’d gulped a cup of curdled milk. “It’s not only that,” she breathes. “My mother also decided to casually mention Daniel at lunch today.”

“Daniel? The young man who turned his back on you?” Mallory recalls. “I believe your mother criticized him in my presence once—or a dozen times—”

“He didn’t turn his back on me,” Regina raves, unable to check the sudden rage that launches her onto her feet. She laughs madly at the injustice of how events have been misrepresented and remembered. Angry tears spring to her eyes. “My mother chased him away! She thought we were fooling around and wanted to protect what was left of my ‘innocence.’ But she blamed the wrong person for tarnishing that in the first place--” She’s been too impetuous, and she’s spitting out words she never meant to utter.

Mallory observes stoically without giving away what she’s thinking. It’s not until Regina finishes speaking that the subtlest hint of dread shows itself in her face. “What are you saying?” she asks. 

Regina strides back and forth. “There was someone else,” she confesses, because it’s too late to be dishonest. “Emma is investigating him. He’s a public figure—he was a senator. You’ve met him before, at several formal affairs—”

“This man you vaguely refer to wouldn’t happen to be Former Senator White, would it?” Mallory’s eyelashes flit and settle, and her tone reveals her barely restrained fury. “Whenever we ran into him, I always sensed something was off. Christ, Regina, why didn’t you ever tell me? We could have made him answer for his crimes!”

“With what evidence?” Regina demands, throwing her hands in the air. “At the time, I believed that in some way, I must have consented. I was naïve and admired his good reputation. I wanted attention from him—just not that kind.”

“He did a real number on you, didn’t he?” Mallory bristles, and hunches over to hang her head above her knees. “Somehow, I knew. I knew something wasn’t right just by the way he shook your hand.”

Regina’s nostrils twitch, but otherwise she seems strikingly calm. She swallows, tasting the salt of her tears in her mouth. Her throat leaps visibly as she takes in a quick gasp of air. “He was such a good father to his daughter, Mary Margaret,” she whispers. “Everything I wished my parents would be.”

“He took advantage of that longing in you,” Mallory fumes. “He must have known you were lonely, and desperate for someone’s—anyone’s kindness.” She rises up from the sofa and meets Regina’s gaze as she takes her hand. “That bastard might not be responsible for what happened recently, but since he violated you, perhaps we ought to violate his privacy.”

“For what purpose?” Regina huffs impatiently. “I already tried to retaliate. In college, I blackmailed someone into investigating him, but the senator is a model citizen. Like it or not, there’s no legal way to punish him. Besides, I don’t want anyone else to know about this.” 

She’ll never entrust this secret to others. If she wasn’t in such a fragile state, she would have stopped herself before being so forthright with Mallory. But as Mallory squeezes her hand, she realizes that doesn’t regret it. 

“We’ll figure something out,” Mallory assures her, with a faint tremor of outrage in her voice. “I promise you.”

Mallory sits back down on the couch, and soon they’re both nestled comfortably together under the large throw blanket. 

The deeply rooted stress in Regina’s body has at least slackened. It’s for that reason that Regina’s eventually able to sleep, after so many nights of nightmares.


	11. Chapter 11

Regina is still asleep under the throw blanket when she hears Henry run down the stairs for school. Mallory meets him at the bottom of the staircase, and hushes him before he charges into the living room. 

“Your mom is asleep on the couch,” Mallory whispers conspiratorially. “So I’m going to make you a special breakfast. I happen to know where your mother keeps all of her contraband.” She guides Henry into the kitchen, but Regina can still hear Mallory’s distinctive voice. 

“I just need you to do me a favor first,” Mallory mutters. “Get on the phone with one of your little friends, and arrange a car pool for this morning. Then I’ll show you where your mother hides the Pop tarts.”

“I don’t need you to show me,” Henry declares loudly. “They’re in the cabinet above the fridge. I can reach it myself if I stand on the counter, but I don’t do that. It makes mom feel better when I eat healthy.” He’s rummaging in the fridge, and Regina suspects he’s after the fruit. 

“An apple?” Mallory asks in surprise. “That’s what you want for breakfast?”

“Hey, I’m still going to have a pop tart,” Henry grins, and Regina listens to the cabinet door swing open and shut. 

Henry spends the next few minutes on the phone. By then Regina summons the energy to scrape herself off the couch. She’s still in her clothes from the day before, and she notices her hair is disheveled as she pads into the kitchen. 

Without commenting, she takes the other strawberry Pop tart from Henry’s pack and bites into it. 

“Mom,” Henry exclaims, startled by her sudden appearance. 

“Good morning, sweetheart,” Regina warmly replies, and goes to her usual spot at the table. She hates disrupting his routine, and in the last few weeks, they’ve had nothing but disruptions. “Do you have any tests or papers I need to sign?” 

Mallory is still searching through the cabinet of not-so-secret treats. She chooses the box of Lucky Charms cereal and pours herself a big bowl. 

“I don’t think so,” Henry considers, tipping his head to the side as he tries to remember. “But don’t forget I have soccer tonight. Jeremy’s mom is driving us. It’s your turn next week.” He shoves his folders and books into his backpack, and then puts on his shoes. “Lunch money?” he requests. 

Regina gives him ten dollars, and kisses him goodbye.

“I’ll see both of you later,” Henry announces, and glances back at Mallory. 

“Please tell Jeremy’s mother that I said thank you,” Regina stresses, as she sees Henry to the door. “And zipper up your coat! It’s cold.”

Henry zippers the coat halfway, and darts out to the car that’s waiting for him. 

Regina watches him greet Jeremy and the first few moments of the boys’ conversation before the car drives away. She waves from the window, but Henry’s so distracted that he doesn’t wave back. 

She’s also distracted, and doesn’t realize Mallory’s standing behind her. That recognition comes on slowly, and she turns toward her friend with hesitancy. 

Mallory must have awakened much earlier, since she’s already dressed in a slate grey dress suit and classic black tie. 

“You want coffee?” Mallory asks. The question clearly isn’t the one she intended, but Regina’s glad that her friend has the wherewithal not to mention their discussion from the previous night. 

“I could drink a cup or two,” Regina emphasizes, and strolls back into the kitchen to make their coffee. The machine heats up rapidly with loud churning sounds. She fills two mugs with the dark, fragrant brew and perches at the table alongside Mallory. 

“Emma will be here at ten o’clock,” Regina casually notes, and glances at the time. “We have an appointment with a diamond expert. Someone gave me a necklace of apparently great worth. We’re trying to figure out the name of the original owner.” 

“What is the likelihood of that being a coincidence?” Mallory muses. She spoons sugar into her coffee, but even the sweetness doesn’t affect her perpetual sneer. 

“That’s a good question,” Regina sighs. “It’s possible that this is in some way related to what happened to me. But try as I might, I can’t connect the pieces of this disaster or make sense of why I find myself at the center of it. I need to go get ready.” She drains her mug and puts it in the sink, then strolls upstairs to take a shower. 

There’s no need to rush, so she deep scrubs her pores and tends to herself meticulously. For a change, she actually lingers in front of her closet mirror and admires the pencil skirt she puts on. 

When the doorbell rings, she allows Mallory to worry about it, and finishes applying her lipstick. 

By the time she gets downstairs, Emma, Mallory and a red-faced, short little man with beefy arms are all sitting on her living room sofa. It seems that they’ve made introductions without her. 

“That’s Regina,” Emma announces. She’s a little reserved and pasty looking this morning, but the sight of Regina helps to brighten her color. 

“Leroy Macabee,” the man grunts, and shakes Regina’s hand. “I’m one of the curators at the Mineralogical and Geological Museum, and I’m an expert in rare jewels, specifically diamonds. Shall we see what you’ve got?”

Regina fetches the necklace from the wall safe in her study. “This is it,” she tells Leroy, and passes the jewelry box to him. 

Leroy pops the lid on the box and whistles. “This is well worth a hundred grand,” he reports. “It has quite an impressive, antiquated design, but it also has modern touches.” 

With the assistance of a small eyepiece, Leroy examines the quality of the diamonds. “We’re not looking at anything super rare here, but it’s a good replica of a necklace worn by a Victorian royal. I know of a few local shops that would sell similar pieces. The most notable being Borogrove’s, which has been in business since the turn of the century. They’re all family owned, and operated. There’s also Kathryn’s—which is a pretty upscale boutique. But it’s changed over the years. Kathryn Midas, wife of the billionaire Andrew Midas, used to run the store. Now her daughter Kathryn has taken it over. Kathryn’s got her own jewelry line and everything. There’s also a number of places we could check outside of the city.”

Leroy carefully arranges the necklace back in the velvet-lined box. 

“If you could give me a list, that’d be really helpful, but I think maybe you’ve already pointed us in the right direction,” Emma informs him. 

The name Andrew Midas is enough to intensify all of their suspicions. 

Regina takes the box, and allows her hand to limply hang by her side. She knows Andrew Midas personally, but not very well. As a girl, she’d seen him in passing at parties, but he tended to be elusive -- his daughter Kathryn, however, had once been an almost-friend. 

“I’m giving a lecture in an hour, so I should get going,” Leroy explains. “Call me if you need anything else, Emma.” 

Emma thanks him, and then Mallory helpfully escorts him to the door. 

“Let’s take a ride over to Kathryn’s,” Emma suggests. “We can take a look at her showcase, and maybe even ask her a few questions if she’s around.”

“I’ll go with you,” Mallory offers. She and Emma stare at each other in silent communication. 

Regina has the feeling she missed a lot while getting dressed. 

“What was that?” Regina asks, gesturing between the two conspiring women. “Why did you give each other that look?”

“Mallory told me that you might be feeling… uh, -- tired today,” Emma stutters. “You could stay home and rest.”

“That’s the last time I tell you anything.” Regina points her finger at Mallory, even though she’s sure that the lawyer wouldn’t betray her trust. “You think I’m just going to sit here all day? I’m coming with you.” 

That’s how they all end up piling into Emma’s cramped little vehicle. 

The jewelry shop isn’t far from Regina’s house, but it is crowded even on a Monday morning. 

Several young couples are shopping for engagement rings. There’s a wealthy older man buying a watch, and plenty of other people are browsing for gifts. Mallory hangs out by the door, while Emma and Regina wander. 

Regina approaches the counter, but all of the salespeople are occupied. 

Finally, a saleswoman comes prancing over to them. Her nametag says “Nova,” and she certainly radiates exuberance. “Hi there!” she chirps. “Have you found one you like?”

“What?” Emma blinks, rumpling her forehead in confusion. 

“A wedding ring!” Nova declares, and that’s when Regina realizes they’re standing right in front of the glass case filled with engagement bands. “You two are such a beautiful couple! I hope you don’t mind me saying so.” 

Before Regina can correct the saleswoman, Nova reaches across the countertop and grabs her hand. “I know just what to show you!” Nova gleefully insists. “Something traditional, with flare!”

Regina’s disturbed by the saleswoman’s wild assumption, but Emma merely grins and bumps her shoulder.

“You have the wrong impression,” Regina grumbles, as she snatches her hand back from Nova. “We’re here to see Kathryn. Is she around?”

“Oh! I’m so sorry! She’s working in the back,” Nova pouts in disappointment. “I’ll go see if she’s available to speak with you.” 

“First Henry claims you’re in love with me, and now Nova says we’re engaged,” Emma breathes. “Next thing you know, a stranger will walk up to me on the street to tell me we’re married.” 

“Please.” Regina laughs dryly, lifting a hand towards herself. “Look at me, Miss Swan. If a stranger came over to say anything, it would be to express a concern that you were going to rob me. You’re looking rough around the edges today.”

Emma rolls her eyes at the joke and tugs at her knitted hat, which doesn’t match her red leather jacket. “That’s it,” she grunts sarcastically. “The wedding is off.”

“You’re getting married?” Kathryn asks as she converges on them. “Regina—it’s a pleasure to see you, and to meet your partner! I’m sorry, what’s her name?”

“This is Emma,” Regina states, too fed up to correct anyone. 

“Nice to meet you,” Emma mumbles, and greets Kathryn with a strong handshake. 

“It’s been a long time,” Regina remarks, squinting as she takes Kathryn in. “I trust you’re doing alright?”

Kathryn throws her arms up and gestures in all directions at the shop. “Well, just look around,” she says blandly. “Business is booming. On the other hand, my personal life is in shambles, but whose isn’t?” Her eyes fleetingly return to Emma, and settle on the agent’s hideous hat for a moment before returning to Regina. “I suppose we all have to compromise somewhere. But I have been seeing a man named Frederick, and he’s the old-fashioned type. I hope he puts one of my most expensive, gaudy rings on my finger.”

“I wish you all the best with that,” Regina politely mutters, and rubs her palms together in impatience. “Kathryn, I was hoping you could help me with something. I need to obtain a certificate of authenticity for a necklace I recently acquired. I have reason to believe it came from your shop. I’m concerned that the seller gave me an unfair price.” She manages to spin all of her lies with a straight face, and nothing seems amiss to Kathryn. 

“Do you have the necklace with you?” Kathryn asks. She pulls at her beige sweater as if she’s cold, and then holds out her hands to take the jewelry box that Emma thrusts her way. 

Kathryn inspects the necklace and delicately grabs its tiny clasp. “It’s definitely one of ours,” she concludes. “I can tell by the clasp. We should have your certificate on file.”

“Would you by any chance know the name of the original owner?” Regina adds, though the question might be perceived as odd. 

Kathryn hesitates, tightening her lip ever so slightly and furrowing her brow. “We keep a record of all purchases, and even more detailed information on pieces that are extremely high in value, especially if the buyer takes out our insurance. It’s usually hard to identify the purchaser without a receipt, or one of our certificates. But you happen to be in luck, because this necklace was commissioned. We don’t stock these. It’s one of a kind. My mother would have helped with the design for it. Let me go and speak with her.” 

As Kathryn disappears once more into the back room, Regina exhales and tries to loosen her muscles. She’s already anticipating the worst, and so she hardly flinches when Kathryn returns with the elder Kathryn Midas. 

The aging woman wears a chain around her neck with dangling glasses. She pushes the glasses onto her nose and peers at the necklace with grave interest. “Ah, yes. Years ago, Leopold White commissioned this as a gift for your mother,” she explains at last. “I would have completely forgotten, but the senator reported it stolen recently. Perhaps you ought to let your mother know that you’ve had it this whole time.”

Mallory joins them at the counter, just in time to hear the verdict on the necklace. 

Regina dizzily falters backward. She can’t be sure if Mrs. Midas has assumed she’s the thief, but the knowing look on the woman’s face implies so much—she must be intrigued by these circumstances. 

And of course Regina has to wonder why her mother ever would have accepted a personal gift like this one. From the way Mrs. Midas is gazing at her, Regina can only conclude that her mother and the former senator shared a romantic history. 

Mrs. Midas passes the necklace to Emma, since Regina’s too appalled to react. Kathryn also appears baffled. 

“I’ll let my mother know,” Regina whispers, though her voice strains to get that much out. She starts for the exit at a pace that neither Emma nor Mallory can match, and then she all but collapses into the passenger seat of Emma’s bug. 

Mallory flings open the back door and folds herself into the car. “We need to get dirt on Senator White immediately,” she fumes. 

“How’d you reach that conclusion?” Emma asks, as she slides into the driver’s seat. “Honestly, we have to think of all the angles here. Either Senator White, or Regina’s mother must have passed the necklace onto her through Mr. Gold. Or, someone else took the necklace and gave it to Regina. If Senator White and Mrs. Mills weren’t both loaded, I’d say they were just trying to get the insurance money. I guess it’s also possible that someone wanted to set Regina up on charges of stealing. Or maybe Gold’s somehow responsible.” She’s saying too much all at once, and then huffs out in frustration. “We’ll figure it out, but there’s at least three people we need to question about this--”

“I don’t think we should question anyone anymore,” Regina weakly argues. “My mother, Former Senator White, and Mr. Gold aren’t cooperative people. Mallory is right. We should just search for answers ourselves. I think we should start by scrutinizing the former senator a bit more closely.”

“We should break into White’s office,” Mallory suggests, completely on board with that plan. “He still has one, not far from Fenway. There’s no chance that you’ll ever get a warrant to step foot on his property. He’s too charismatic and well liked. Besides, we don’t have probable cause on our side, though I am convinced he’s behind all of this. The bastard has even managed to make it seem like Regina’s guilty of a crime. I’m sure it’s his way of covering his ass, in case you turn up evidence that he’s somehow involved with your case.”

“So, how are we going to dig up dirt on him? Breaking into his office could be difficult. Senator White might be retired, but he still must have some security.” Emma frowns, rapping her fingers on her steering wheel. “We can’t do this with just three people, not without trouble. I’ve already learned my lesson on that. I can handle the security cameras, but we’d need a team, just in case. Unfortunately I can’t even assemble a team right now, and even if I could, we’d definitely have to go through all of the official channels if we wanted access to a former senator’s office--” 

“So, we just need a team that doesn’t play by the rules,” Mallory husks, and her eyes burn like the blue center of a flame. “I can help with that. Leave it up to me.”

\--

Mallory’s idea of what constitutes a team differs drastically from Emma’s own idea of it. At least most of them have dressed according to Emma’s instructions – in tight fitting, darker clothes or neutrals. 

Carla Deville is the only one who refuses to compromise on wardrobe. She’s chosen to wear a heavy sable fur coat that swallows her thin form. Ursula Martin is just slightly more sensible in her camo pants and turtleneck. There are two streaks of war paint on her cheeks until Mallory scolds her and she wipes it off. 

Marian might be the most rational person in Regina’s living room. “What if something goes wrong?” she frowns, although she’s obviously willing to take the risk for her friend. 

They’re all a bunch of misfits compared to the trained fighters that Emma is accustomed to working alongside, but she’s going to have to make due. 

“Nothing should go wrong,” Emma stresses. “I’m going to remotely take the building’s security cameras offline for an hour. We can split up, distract the security guards if necessary, and get into White’s office. With so many of us to help, we should be able to search quickly. If you find something, don’t automatically pocket it. We want to leave the place pretty much untouched.”

“And have we any idea what we’re looking for?” Carla asks. 

“Any documents that might suggest the former senator is guilty of a crime, connected to any criminal parties, or in bed with any terrorist organizations,” Emma lists. 

“This is the only way I ever want to catch that wrinkled old man in ‘bed’ with anyone, and still metaphorically speaking, I hope he contracts a disease for his associations,” Mallory snidely remarks. 

Ursula stands with her hands planted on hips. “I still don’t fully understand why we’re involved with all of this, but scheming together reminds me of old times,” she says. 

“Well, aren’t you nostalgic?” Mallory smirks, and then gazes off towards the door to the kitchen. 

Regina enters with a pinched-looking expression on her face. “I arranged for Henry’s usual babysitter to arrive at eight,” she explains. “I’m just not sure about leaving him alone with her tonight. She’s only a high schooler.”

“He’s going to be thrilled,” Mallory insists, dismissively waving her hand. “Boys of his age spend a lot of their time fantasizing about teenage girls.” She pauses, and blinks lazily. “Or teenage boys. The point is, you need to feel free to leave the house and go out for a night. You can’t always be looking over your shoulder.” 

“Mal is right,” Ursula argues. “After tonight, you need to get out more. We should all meet up for drinks and have a good time. Start living it up a little.”

“I’d rather be at home having dinner with my son,” Regina sighs, and slips into a more guarded stance, with her arms crossed. “On that note, I need to go make him a meal so he can heat it up later.”

There’s something different about Regina today, though Emma can’t quite nail it down. While the others chat, Emma drifts into the kitchen. 

Regina is already putting on an apron and pulling ingredients from the fridge. 

“Hey, you seem off today,” Emma mutters, keeping out of Regina’s way. “Like something is really bothering you.”

“Just an average day for me, I’m afraid,” Regina says distractedly. 

Emma takes a few steps closer, and rests her hip against the counter. “This case is overwhelming,” she admits. “There’s so much to do. I still haven’t been able to identify the waitress who gave you that weird warning about me, and I have a bunch of evidence packed into the back of my car. It’s going to have to stay there until I officially go back to work--” 

Regina is chopping up vegetables, and only half listening. 

“All afternoon, I’ve been trying to think over everything that White and his daughter said in their interviews,” Emma continues. “But I realized I don’t have your side of the story. They seemed to paint you as a rebellious teen without a cause. That can’t be the truth, can it?” 

She senses that Regina’s listening now, even though the woman doesn’t stop chopping. In fact, Regina drives the knife with more force than ever. 

“Mary Margaret told me about her near-death experience, and how you saved her,” Emma adds. “I guess what I’m asking is—how’d you go from being the kind of person who saves a kid, to someone who vandalizes the town?”

“People change, dear,” Regina says lightly and noncommittally. “Why don’t you make yourself useful and boil some water?”

Emma searches for a pot, fills it from the sink and places it on the stovetop. She’s about to ask for more details when Regina glides up to her and slides a hand up her shirt. 

“Let’s stop thinking about all of this, just for a little while,” Regina purrs seductively. She cups and caresses Emma’s cheek, then hushes her with a sensuous kiss. 

Henry arrives home and speeds into the kitchen to discover them making out. He’s still wearing his soccer uniform and muddy cleats. 

“Hey kid,” Emma grins, putting some distance between her and Regina. “How was the practice? Did you score? I know I was about to—”

Fortunately Henry doesn’t understand her humor, and he has questions of his own to ask. “What’s going on?” Henry demands. “Why’s everyone here, and why are they dressed in all black? Did someone die?”

“No, sweetheart,” Regina says, glowering angrily over Emma’s joke. “But it’s still early yet.”

“I’m going out tonight,” Regina belatedly explains, and points at the pasta and vegetables that are on the stove. “Ariel is coming over to babysit you. You’ll have dinner together, and she’ll help you with your homework. I should be back no later than eleven. Now, please go and take off those filthy shoes.”

Henry pries the cleats from his feet right where he’s standing. “Happy?” he asks. 

“Go and put them in the mudroom,” Regina instructs, and Henry scampers off. 

The babysitter arrives at seven, and all of Regina’s friends clear out of the house and get into two different cars. 

Mallory, Ursula and Marian ride together with Regina, which leaves Carla with Emma in the bug. 

“What’s all of this in the trunk?” Carla drawls, peering through the Volkswagen’s window at the collection of wine bottles from James Spencer’s New Hampshire property. 

“Evidence,” Emma frowns, and ducks into the driver’s seat. 

“Of what?” Carla says mockingly, and then grabs a bottle before getting into the passenger side. “Alcoholism?”

“You’re one to talk,” Emma retorts. “Don’t drink that, okay? There’s some strange fluid in the bottom. I need to have it tested by a lab, but my privileges have been temporarily revoked at work.”

Carla holds the bottle up to read the label. “Strange,” she muses. “Where did you find this? I’ve been to all of the vineyards up and down the east coast. This vineyard doesn’t exist.”

“Are you sure?” Emma squints.

“Darling, drinking and buying expensive furs are my only hobbies,” Carla sniffs, then pulls a corkscrew from somewhere within her thick coat. She makes quick work of popping open the bottle, and lifts it to her nostrils to smell the wine. “I thought it was quite impossible to ruin wine, but someone has managed it.”

“I don’t think that one is actually wine,” Emma says worriedly. The pressure releasing from the bottle also breaks through the barrier at the bottom. Then the substance inside begins to bubble like acid. “Put that somewhere, and don’t touch anything else in my car!”

“Oh, I assure you that I won’t,” Carla insists, giving a scathing look to the burger wrappers and receipts that litter the floor. She clutches the bottle awkwardly, then rolls down the window and abruptly flings it from the moving vehicle. 

Emma does a double take, glances to the side of the road, and back at the shattered glass. “Are you insane?” she spits. “What if that hit someone?”

“I would say that my aim is improving,” Carla snickers. 

Emma makes a mental note that Carla should ride with Regina on the trip home. Fortunately there’s not a lot of traffic tonight, or pedestrians on the road. 

Former Senator White has his office on Belvidere Street, in a steel grey tower. 

There’s a bank across from it, an upscale Chinese restaurant with two huge, sculpted horses out front, and a park with a spraying fountain at its center. 

Emma drives around the park and reaches for the device in her backseat. She sets up the signal disruption on the entire building’s security feed, and notifies Regina that they can go. 

It’s a short walk between the park and the tower, and the plan is for them to split up once inside. Marian moves first to distract the front desk staff in the lobby. 

Carla goes next to obtain a visitor’s pass, and Emma slips through the evening crowd unnoticed. 

Mallory’s well acquainted with the building, and based on the lawyer’s directions, Emma is able to locate a back entrance near the loading bay for trucks. 

There’s a booth where a guard usually sits, but it’s quiet as Emma opens the door just enough for Regina, Ursula and Mallory to come inside. 

“Took you long enough,” Regina gripes, and frantically moves down the hall towards the elevator banks. 

“The hard part is over,” Emma whispers, although her voice gives away her uncertainty. “We just need to get upstairs.” She presses the button on the elevator and they all squeeze in together. 

“What about actually getting into his office?” Mallory asks. 

“I can get the door open, and then I need one of you to hold the flashlight because I’ll have less than a minute to disable the alarm,” Emma huffs out orders. “The other two will keep watch.”

“I’ll be on flashlight duty,” Ursula offers.

“I’ll watch the stairwell on the north side of the building and Regina can keep an eye on the elevator,” Mallory mutters.

They all separate as soon as the elevator dings at the former senator’s floor. 

Emma carries a small pack of supplies, and rifles through it to find a small electric device. She holds the device over the keycard pad and zaps the mechanism. Simultaneously, she uses a kit with long metal instruments to open the manual lock. 

This isn’t difficult, but it’s the next part of the break-in that worries her. 

With long agile strides, she makes her way to the alarm in the darkness, and fumbles with her equipment. Ursula raises the flashlight for her, and Emma breathes in relief when she sees the model of the alarm system. 

She yanks the keypad from the wall, pulls out the colorful wires at the back and interrupts the signal to the alarm. Then she attaches a microcontroller to read the security code. Her fingers begin trembling as she punches in the correct numbers. 

The light on the alarm turns from red to green, and Ursula flips on the ceiling lights. 

Emma finishes the job by popping the keypad back into its place on the wall.

Ursula lets Regina and Mallory into the office, and then they all start exploring. 

“This is definitely the office of a man who loves himself,” Ursula drawls, as she takes in the sizable portrait of the former senator that hangs by the entryway. She continues to stare at the paintings, pictures and awards around the room. 

Mallory gets right to work, opening the door to a storage closet that is completely full. 

Regina goes straight to the filing cabinet and begins sorting through the contents of folders. 

Emma settles at the desk, and while she’s booting up the computer, she glances over the objects that sit on top of the desk blotter. 

Two paperweights with monarch butterflies trapped in glass are covering up a few letters. One of the letters is a response to a little boy that wrote to the former senator. The second is a formal communication about MANXOME and its line of birth control. 

Ursula wanders over to where there’s a table covered in freebies and lollipops. 

Emma hears the rustling of a wrapper, and looks over just in time to see Ursula stick a lollipop into her mouth. 

Mallory notices, too, and snatches the lollipop away. “This is now a saliva swab,” she grunts. “We’re not even in the door for two seconds, and you’re already leaving behind evidence that you’ve been here.”

“It’s strawberry flavor,” Ursula explains, as if that justifies her behavior. “Besides, it’ll keep my mouth occupied, which means you won’t have to listen to me.”

Mallory raises an eyebrow, clearly re-thinking things, and then grudgingly returns the lollipop. 

“He apparently cares enough to keep every letter from his constituents,” Regina notes, as she sorts through Leopold’s files with a soft sigh of defeat. “And his office is immaculate--”

“It’s not what I expected, that’s for sure,” Mallory admits. She opens a box from the closet, which is marked ‘donations.’ 

“What did you expect?” Emma asks, splitting her attention between the conversation and the computer screen. She plugs in an external hard drive and begins to copy all of the former senator’s digital files. 

“For starters, a blow up sex doll and narcotics,” Mallory muses. 

“There’s too many files here,” Regina sulks, and shuts the first file drawer. “They’re all neatly labeled, but I’m not going to have time to check everything.” She rummages through the next drawer, and selects an overflowing folder from the back. 

The door creaks open, startling them all out of their focused tasks. 

“It’s us,” Marian states, before anyone can get too shaken up. 

Carla and Marian step over the threshold and close the door behind them. 

“How did it go downstairs?” Mallory asks. 

“They bought my story about delivering a gift to clients on the fourth floor,” Marian reports, pleased with her success. “Carla is also an excellent liar. Whatever she said to the security guard got her right through.”

“Oh, I grabbed him by the testicles,” Carla casually confides, and steps over to the only mirror in the room to fix her make-up. 

“Not again,” Mallory grumbles. “You know that’s sexual harassment.”

“She’s done this before?” Marian asks, stunned by the odd behavior. 

“It’s the only truly effective way to get a man to listen,” Carla airily insists. “Besides, he offered to take me to dinner first.”

Emma’s too busy scrutinizing the contents on the computer to be bothered with the ridiculous conversation. She notices that her hard drive is struggling to copy files from a server. “There’s something strange on this computer,” she murmurs. 

“Is it porn?” Mallory sniffs. 

“No. There are two servers that I can’t access,” Emma frowns. “There’s some kind of block. I’m not an expert at this, but I’ll try some work arounds.” 

Mallory carries on with her job of digging through the closet. She opens the flaps on a cardboard box and lifts a teddy bear and some baby clothes from inside. “Former Senator White must be a very sentimental man,” she remarks. “He’s kept everything from when his daughter was young.”

Emma barely glances at Mallory, but then she looks up again more sharply, and stares hard at the familiar teddy bear. The plush, cream-colored toy has a friendly face, and a brown patch on its tummy. She also recognizes some of the clothing, and instantly gets to her feet. “Those are mine,” she splutters out in confusion. 

“What do you mean, they’re yours?” Regina’s eyebrows knit together in denial. 

Emma picks items out of the box, including a pair of woolen booties that are embroidered. The booties coordinate with an old blanket she still owns. “I mean this is my stuff! How did he get these?” she demands. “From my foster parents? Why the hell would he have them?”

“Why, indeed,” Regina swallows uneasily, and clutches herself at the elbows. 

“We have less than twenty minutes left, and we’re going to have to make smart use of our time if we want to finish searching and get out of here,” Mallory asserts, taking charge of the situation. 

It’s very obvious to everyone that this whole plan could deteriorate, and they could get caught if they stop to think about what any of these discoveries mean. 

Emma shoves the old clothing and the bear back into the box, and stuffs it into the empty space in the closet. She makes an attempt at acting clearheaded, though she’s too jolted by Mallory’s find. 

“Is it possible that Leopold White is somehow your father?” Regina whispers, with a slow blink and a distraught frown on her face. She’s clinging to herself in a way that shows her level of horror. “I mean – why would he have those items?”

“The man didn’t raise her, so obviously he’s not her father,” Mallory rumbles quietly. “Now, let’s grab the external hard drive and the rest of your tools, and leave--”

Emma retrieves the hard drive from the computer and begins going through the motions of what she has to do to get them all safely out of there. But flickers of long pent up emotion cross her face. Her eyes are like deep pools, picking up the changing reflection of the sky in a lightning storm. She’s furious enough to trash the office, but somehow her limbs are heavy and she’s feeling strangely uncoordinated. Every time her rage builds to the breaking point, she deflates again and a soft line of confusion forms on her forehead. 

They all put the office back in order, though she and Regina are the least helpful, which is saying something because Carla is sticking bumper stickers from a previous campaign onto Ursula. 

“Way to be inconspicuous, girls,” Mallory grunts, and forcefully rips the bumper sticks off. 

Ursula grits her teeth, but still groans. 

“It’s time for us to go,” Mallory commands.


End file.
